


Northbound Pilgrimage

by Jay_all



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Drama & Romance, Elder Scrolls Lore, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Long, Original Character(s), Romance, Skyrim Romance Mod, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 97
Words: 351,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25380010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_all/pseuds/Jay_all
Summary: Aeyrin is a cleric raised in the chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol. When she leaves the safety of the hallowed halls on a pilgrimage, her journey takes her north into the province of Skyrim. The land, however, proves much more traitorous than she anticipates and unfortunate events force her onto a path of a greater destiny that she would have ever imagined.This is a fanfiction set during the events of The Elder Scrolls V - Skyrim, complemented with the characters and story of  the amazing Skyrim Romance Mod. Story is usually updated twice a week.
Relationships: Bishop (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Bishop/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, OC and Bishop
Comments: 150
Kudos: 225





	1. Out of the Fire

_Author's note:_

_Dear all, I've been spending some time now working on this fanfic. It's the story of my favorite Dragonborn all the way from her first days in Skyrim. I wrote it mostly just for myself but there is a chance someone else might enjoy it so I decided to post it. It's my first try at anything like this and I would welcome any feedback, criticism or opinions. Or praise… I always love me some praise :D_

_Beware that this is a slow-paced longfic and there's not always a lot of epic action or drama (or smut) right away. This is intended to be a very long story (and it already is) so there's no rush to get to the good parts. The perspective at times shifts fluently between the characters, but hopefully not in a confusing way. Also, while I believe myself proficient, English is still not my native language so there may at times be some miscommunication – please notify me if you notice anything like that (or any typos, I appreciate anyone pointing these out to me. Things slip through the cracks at times)._

_Story is usually updated very frequently (as much as twice a week), but I do not keep a set schedule. If there should be any significant delays in updates I would inform you, but I usually have plenty of chapters written ahead to avoid that :)_

_Last thing, I promise – I mostly adhered to the established lore of both SRM and TES, but there are some things I changed... some inadvertently, some inspired by other mods and some just for the sake of the story. If you see any lore discrepancies that bother you, you are free to complain and I will either explain my reasoning or admit lack of knowledge and change stuff :D_

_Enough blabbering then, here's the fanfic no one asked for._

_Enjoy_

_Oh, and every character besides mine is the property of Bethesda, SRM authors or… Obsidian, I guess? Yada-yada-yada, you know the drill._

* * *

“Come on, we have to move, it’s still out there!”

Despite his adamant urging, she stopped in her tracks. The twists and turns of the road ahead disappeared behind a myriad of lush trees. It all seemed so calm, serene even. The screams and the heat seemed like a distant memory for a small while.

The searing pain in her upper arm broke the quiet reverie, she took a deep breath and her hand, still clutching the burned arm, went alit with the warm white light of healing magic. It wouldn’t heal the burns completely, but at least the pain would lessen until she could properly tend the wound.

Hadvar stepped closer to her, his eyes still nervously scanning the skies. He watched as the light from her hand dissipated and he gently uncovered the chainmail sleeve of her ‘borrowed’ armor – the same one the Stormcloak soldiers wore.

“It looks better,” he smiled weakly “We should really go, I’d like to put as much distance between us and the beast as possible,” he let go of the chain and turned back towards the road.

“We also need to tell someone what happened. As if anyone would believe it…” he mumbled more to himself than anything and started to walk down the winding path.

She set off after him in a short while, thinking for a bit of the fact that she didn’t really have any idea where he was leading her, but somehow it just didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Her thoughts were strangely numb, as if she still has not processed the happenings of the last day. The soldiers, the ambush, that giant axe waiting for…

“Down the road is Riverwood. I have an uncle there. We can stay at his smithy for a while, get back on our feet. And you can take care of that burn properly,” he interrupted her track of thought. 

“How far is it?” she asked, her voice still shaking a bit. Everything was happening so fast, it felt like the first time in a long while that she actually said something. Her throat felt hoarse from inhaling all that smoke and ash.

“It’s very close, a half-hour journey at most,” he gave her an encouraging smile. Hadvar didn’t seem so distressed anymore. He even stopped scanning the skies, probably relying on the tall trees along the road to hide their presence. It was hard to believe that he was fighting for his very life just a few moments ago. She envied his composure – the more time to think she found herself with, the more she began to realize all that has transpired and the anxiety crept in.

They walked in silence for a while, Hadvar would occasionally point out some landmark in the distance but she couldn’t really pay attention to any of it, the images of the burning town and the desperate screams all around her still preoccupying every thought in her head.

…

After a while a stone wall became visible behind the trees in front of them. They approached the village and Hadvar headed straight for the smithy where a large Nord man could be seen working the forge – he had a thick light brown mane with a matching beard and his muscular form was draped in a black leather apron.

“I swear mother, it flew by in the distance! Large as a building, I tell you!” She overheard a young man dressed in a bright outfit exclaiming with a hint of fear in his voice. “You and your fanciful tales, boy… there’s no dragons. You probably saw a large bird,” an elderly woman scoffed at him as she occupied herself with beating a particularly dusty rug. What will the people in town do once they learn about the attack? She was always taught to approach such monumental issues with caution – a mass panic could always do more harm than good.

She turned her head away from the exchange and ran to catch up with Hadvar who was already talking to the smith.

“Shor’s bones, just tell me what’s going on, boy!” the smith exclaimed “And what are you doing with a Storm-” he paused suddenly as his eyes roamed over her features. He looked confused for a while then gave out a hearty laugh: “Well damn, lass. I didn’t think they recruited your kind. Now I’ve seen everything.”

Hadvar sighed, rubbing the tips of his fingers between his brows “Uncle, she’s not a Stormcloak. She just… needed some armor. This one was available,” he shrugged a bit derisively.

The smith chuckled and inclined his head towards her: “Name’s Alvor then, lass.”

“Aeyrin,” she replied, her voice still felt so hoarse.

“Come on inside then, you two. Sigrid will get you something warm to eat while you tell me what you’re doing here.”

…

Aeyrin swirled the spoon around in her steaming bowl of stew. She felt like she hasn’t eaten for days but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to even have a taste. She half-heartedly listened to Hadvar relay the day’s events to his aunt and uncle. At the mention of the large black dragon with strange fiery-golden wings both of them gasped in shock and listened to Hadvar’s recounting of their escape, positively enraptured. When he finished, Alvor and his wife Sigrid started discussing how Riverwood could not possibly defend itself against a dragon attack and how they would surely end up just like Helgen did.

“Hadvar, boy, you need to go to Whiterun soon after you rest. Alert jarl Balgruuf! He must lend his soldiers to us. He needs to protect his hold if that beast decides to come back,” Alvor insisted frantically.

“I cannot, uncle. I need to report back to the general immediately. I fear I am the only one from the Legion who survived. The general needs to know what transpired!” he paused for a while, his brows creasing hatefully. “And he needs to know that Ulfric had his hand in it without a doubt!” Hadvar clenched his fist angrily as he mentioned that name.

“But what are we to do? We cannot defend Riverwood ourselves,” Sigrid sighed with desperation.

Aeyrin suddenly felt like she had woken from a daze, the strange flurry of helplessness and lack of destination slowly dissipating as her mind was easing slowly. The words she heard so often were ringing in the back of her head reassuringly: _Protect the weak_. 

“I’ll go,” she blurted out suddenly as all three of them turned their gazes towards her, their surprise palpable.

“You would?” Sigrid asked carefully.

“If you give me directions, I can go speak to the jarl,” Aeyrin confirmed with a slight smile.

Alvor gave her a warm grin, slapping his hand on her back amicably. “Well that’s great, lass! My boy Hadvar always had a good nose for people,” he winked.

Good. This felt right. She needed a direction, a purpose. She needed to know what to do next.

“You need to rest some, and probably get some supplies first though. And you cannot show your face anywhere in that armor, lass. The Stormcloaks would skin you alive if they thought _you_ killed one of their own!” Alvor frowned as he gazed pointedly at Aeyrin’s ears.

“Eat up, dear, there’s a wash basin downstairs and if you need a healing draught, we have some which you are welcome to.” Sigrid smiled at her warmly, she seemed so much friendlier than just a moment ago. “You can stay the night in one of the downstairs beds, you must be dead tired, the both of you.”

Aeyrin managed to get some stew into her and to wash up at least a little in the basin. She needed a proper bath, badly, but she was hardly about to complain about the family’s hospitality. Sigrid even prepared a clean tunic and leggings for her, although they sagged terribly on her small frame.

Hadvar seemed to watch her more admiringly since she offered to help deliver the message to the jarl. He even approached her about joining the Imperial Legion, which seemed a bit odd from someone who rushed her towards a headman’s axe only a few hours ago. She politely told him that she will think on his offer but she hardly felt eager to join anyone, especially since she barely heard anything of the civil war before she got captured at the border.

The prepared bed was rather hard, only cushioned with some hay and what looked like goat hide. It was still preferable to the hard bench on the prisoner cart where she spent the previous night. Sleep still somewhat eluded her, but after a few hours of tossing and turning, she finally got some much needed rest.

…

She woke up to a strange sensation – was someone… stroking her ear?

She snapped her eyes open, alarmed, only to see a suddenly frightened little girl with ginger hair, much like Sigrid’s.

“I’m so sorry!” the girl yelped. “I just wanted to see if they feel the same as mine… I asked Faendal once but he got angry and shooed me away,” she admitted shyly, looking down on her feet in embarrassment.

Aeyrin sat up on the bed drowsily as the girl was cowering, waiting for her reaction. “Do they?” Aeyrin smiled, still groggy from her rest.

The girl smiled shyly at her: “Yes… I just got startled by your… umm…” she got nervous again, glancing briefly at Aeyrin’s pitch-black eyes.

Aeyrin knew that Skyrim wouldn’t be the most hospitable place for a Bosmer, but she thought the people would have at least seen an elf before.

She gave a slight sigh but turned to the girl with a kind expression: “You don’t have to be afraid. My name is Aeyrin.”

“I’m Dorthe,” the girl chirped, “are you a friend of Faendal?” she added, peering at her curiously.

“I don’t know who that is.” Aeyrin gave her a questioning look – the girl _did_ mention the name before.

“Oh. He’s an elf too!” Dorthe replied with a smile. Aeyrin felt compelled for a bit to tell the girl, how all elves did not know each other, but thought better of lecturing a strange child.

“I’m a friend of Hadvar’s,” she explained after a while.

“Oh. Are you a soldier too?” the girl peered at her curiously again, a hint of reverence in her eyes.

Aeyrin only shook her head in response. Dorthe looked a little disappointed by that but then she beamed at her again after a while. “Thanks for not getting angry at me. You can come and play with me and Frodnar later, if you want,” the girl gave her an eager wave and skipped away cheerfully, heading up the stairs, away from the sleeping area.

…

After being served some breakfast from Sigrid, Alvor dragged Aeyrin towards his forge, showing her a few leftover iron ingots he offered to use to make some armor for her.

Feeling a little guilty for taking the family up on so much of their hospitality, Aeyrin offered to assist Alvor. They worked together for many hours and Aeyrin insisted on doing a lot of the work herself – for one she did not want to keep Alvor from his other work and also, she was hoping to pick up some of the legendary Skyrim smithing skills on her journey. _Work hard and you will be rewarded_.

Aeyrin finally felt more at ease than the day before, she had a destination and the hard work kept her mind from wandering.

…

It was nearly dusk when she finally finished the crude iron armor. She disliked full plates – feeling as if they restricted her movement too much. She preferred to make a separate piece for her chest and her back and fashioning some fastenings for the sides, then similarly covering her lower body and arms with plate only where really necessary. She usually wore an underchain to protect the exposed areas, but she had no money to purchase one, no skill and time to actually make one and she could hardly coax it from Alvor for free. He was already too generous.

She had to leave a bit more of her back exposed than she would like as she messed up the measurements and the calculations of the amount of the provided metal needed for each separate piece of the armor. As she was not about to ask Alvor for more free metal, she had to leave her shoulder blades exposed in the new armor, much to the blacksmith’s amusement.

“You should have let me handle it, lass,” he laughed heartily.

“You had your own work, Alvor. And it will do for now.” she smiled sheepishly, her cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment at her own ineptness. Not that she minded – it was all part of learning, but failing like this in front of an experienced smith still made her uncomfortable.

Hadvar had already left for the capitol, and the night was swiftly approaching. Aeyrin didn’t feel right imposing any more on Hadvar’s family, so she gathered the few trinkets she collected in the dungeon under Helgen and headed towards the town trader. After earning some coin, little as it was, she headed towards the tavern, intending to have a meal, Divines willing a bath, and to spend the night there.

She would head out for Whiterun early in the morning.


	2. Into the Pan

The sounds of laughter emanated from the direction of the tavern.

It sounded like the place was pretty lively in the evenings, even for such a small village. She walked by a drunken elderly man leaning against the trader’s building and headed towards the inn, a warm meal and a bath the only things on her mind.

She passed another set of drunkards who both started hooting and cat-calling her as she walked by. Her face reddened involuntarily, but she tried to ignore them as best as she could and headed straight for the tavern door. These types of situations always embarrassed her. Maybe it was her upbringing. She never had to deal with this kind of thing back home.

She approached the tavern entrance but got startled by another figure standing by the door.

She didn’t notice the man before, he must have been sticking to the shadowy corner of the porch, but now his tall, muscular frame was lit by a nearby lantern. She gazed up at his face – a Nord, he had a strong jaw, decorated by a smirk, dark brown hair and eyes the color of amber.

“Not a fan of lip wrestling, are you?” his smirk seemed to widen, if it were even possible.

“What?” Aeyrin asked, confused and still a little startled by the man’s sudden presence in her way.

“Didn’t you hear those two idiots cat-calling you?” he nodded towards the two drunks still laughing and patting each other on their backs.

“I wasn’t paying attention.” she shrugged, trying to seem casual. It’s not like she was _rattled_ by them per say… just a little uncomfortable. And she did actually miss the actual content of their yelling.

“Really? They weren’t yelling at your back loud enough? Maybe I should be giving them pointers, seeing as I am the only one who landed a conversation,” he smirked again, this time much more smugly.

“They’ve been harassing every pair of legs that’s crossed their path for days. Yesterday they got so drunk they wolf-whistled the blacksmith…” he chuckled lightly with a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. Suddenly she could not get the picture of Alvor being harassed by the two drunks out of her head.

The man tilted his head after a while, looking her up and down slowly. “You’re the first they’ve been right to admire though.”

Aeyrin’s eyes went wide at his forwardness and she felt herself blushing again. “Umm… I-I should really…” she motioned towards the door, looking down at the ground stubbornly. She didn’t really know the man but she could only imagine the smug look on his face when he noticed that she was flustered by his remark.

He gave her another look and removed himself from the door’s way. Aeyrin quickly opened the door and slipped inside the lively tavern.

…

After a proper bath and a warm meal, Aeyrin reclined on an old rickety stool by one of the more hidden tables at the inn. She listened to the young man she saw earlier telling his mother about the dragon sing a love ballad, his eyes fixed on a dark-haired Imperial woman sitting at a table nearby. Other patrons danced and drank, most of them likely unaware of all that transpired just a day ago so close to their homes.

Normally Aeyrin would gladly get to know the townsfolk, join them in their merriment or maybe help a few with their troubles, but the events at Helgen haven’t left her feeling very social.

This was not how her journey to Skyrim was supposed to go. When she met those soldiers near the border, she had no idea who they were, let alone who their commander was. She hoped to share their campfire for a while, perhaps get directions to a nearby settlement, but it all went horribly wrong. After being cordially invited to share a meal with the two soldiers she met on the road, she was met with a much more hostile welcome when they reached their camp. The soldiers surrounded her and disarmed her – there were so many of them. They started to argue whether Aeyrin was a Thalmor spy, when suddenly the Imperial soldiers appeared out of nowhere, attacking everyone. At some point, Aeyrin got knocked out only to wake up in the prisoner cart, headed towards her execution.

In hindsight, the Imperial soldiers probably saved her life, but… so did the dragon for that matter.

She sighed, trying to shake the memories from her mind, staring emptily into her tankard.

“Not enjoying yourself, princess?” the deep voice tore her from the unpleasant thoughts.

The amber-eyed man from before fell into the seat next to her, a mug full of mead in hand. Aeyrin looked at him questioningly and he replied with a shrug: “All the other tables are taken.”

“So is this one…” Aeyrin murmured, annoyed that she wasn’t left to her solitude.

The man laughed cheekily before taking a long swig from his tankard. “Yeah, well, fuck your luck, sweetness. The other people annoy me too much.”

“Why am I the sole exception then?” she scoffed slightly, raising her eyebrow at him, a measure of annoyance palpable in her voice.

“I don’t know you yet,” the familiar smirk returned to his face. Aeyrin shook her head at him. The man certainly seemed kind of rude. It wasn’t hard to imagine that he didn’t get along well with the merry villagers dancing and laughing at the other side of the tavern.

“So, what brings you here? Not many travelers around these days, with the war,” he mused, taking another long sip of hid mead.

“I’m on my way to Whiterun,” Aeyrin answered curtly, she really didn’t feel like relating her troubles to a stranger and while she needed to warn people about the dragon, she decided that raising panic in the village would not help – that information would be better handled in the hands of the Jarl and his advisors. _When in doubt, seek wisdom from the wise._

“What’s in Whiterun?” he prodded, although his somewhat bored expression didn’t really hint at him being all that interested.

“Just some things, I have to take care of. Why are you here?” she changed the subject quickly, subsequently wondering whether she actually wanted to prolong the conversation with more questions.

“I’m just staying for the night, I’ve been tracking my wolf Karnwyr but needed to grab some supplies,” he said rather matter-of-factly, twirling the liquid in his mug around.

“Your what?” Aeyrin’s eyebrows shot upwards at that.

“Wolf, princess. I’m sure you’ve at least heard of them,” he answered with an irked tone in his voice, scowling for some unknown reason. He seemed to have only three facial expressions – a smirk, a scowl and annoyance.

“I just… never heard of a pet wolf,” she shrugged, wondering how someone came to tame a wolf.

“He’s not a pet!” the man frowned at her deeply. “He’s a… friend,” he added, his annoyed expression appeared to falter for a very slight moment. “He’s been with me for years now. Some bandits grabbed him, probably for a fighting ring or something,” he shrugged and took yet another long swig from his mug. He seemed quite casual about the whole thing, but Aeyrin figured that the wolf must be quite important to him, if he was travelling with him for years.

The thought of bandits snatching animals to pit them against each other was abhorrent to her, but more importantly, why did that man just tell her all this? Did he need help and was too proud to admit it? Aeyrin has seen a lot of people like that. The church always strove to help those in need, but she knew all too well that too many people ended up in bad situations, just because they refused to ask for help.

“If you’d like, I could help,” she smiled at him kindly, “My business in Whiterun is a bit urgent, but it shouldn’t take long. I can help you free your wolf after that.” She pulled out the rather crude map that she purchased at the trader’s just a few hours ago and splayed it across the table.

“Do you know where they took him?” she fished out a piece of charcoal from her pack, ready to plan the journey.

He looked a bit baffled. He glanced down at her map, where a dotted line was already traced from Riverwood towards Whiterun. He raised an eyebrow at her, followed by the all too familiar smirk: “Careful, princess. That kind of eagerness can get you killed. Why the fuck would you help me?”

Aeyrin shrugged noncommittally in response: “You look like you could use the help.”

Her kind offer was however only met with a deep, angry scowl. “I don’t _need_ your help, sweetheart. I can handle a few bandits with my eyes closed,” the Nord scoffed arrogantly, folding his arms across his chest. He looked like he was… pouting.

Aeyrin thought for a while if she should try to convince him that there was no shame in accepting a helping hand, but thought better of it. This man did not look like he would appreciate the sentiment and she was far too tired to argue with stubborn people.

An uncomfortable silence ensued between them and Aeyrin started to roll back her map with a slight sigh. The man was still wearing that deep scowl as his eyes travelled all across their surroundings. After a long while his gaze rested on the rickety stool that Aeyrin was sitting on and he muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

“Are you any good with the stick?” he snorted derisively, still pointedly looking at Aeyrin’s hips on the tavern stool.

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Aeyrin’s cheeks reddened again and she involuntarily gave out a small incredulous gasp. “Excuse me?!” she blurted out. This man was unbelievable, and to think she almost felt bad for him a moment ago.

The Nord rolled his amber eyes and pointed at the crude rusty mace hanging from the clasp above Aeyrin’s hip.

Aeyrin’s blush took an even deeper crimson color. She hated how easily she got embarrassed and this man was no doubt doing it on purpose. “Oh… I… well I can handle myself.”

He let out a deep sigh and reached for the rolled up map that Aeryin left placed in front of her on the table.

“Here,” he pointed to an unmarked spot on the map, due east from Whiterun. “Whiterun’s only two hours away from here, you can do what you gotta do there and then we can head out afterwards. They’re holed up in a cave system only a few hours away from the city.”

Aeyrin pulled out her piece of charcoal again but he snatched it from her hand marking the spot on the map with a big X. Aeyrin frowned a bit at the rude maneuver but decided not to comment on it. She only nodded and started to clear out her things from the table.

“Alright. We can head out at dawn,” she stood up from the table, intending to finally get some sleep. She was in desperate need of some quiet and rest and she suspected that any more conversation with the man would only aggravate her further.

“I’m Aeyrin, by the way,” she gave him a polite smile before leaving to her room.

“Bishop.”

Aeyrin entered her room and dropped her pack by the bed with a loud ‘thud’. She sat on the bed and started to remove her new armor with a sigh. Was it really a good idea to travel with a complete stranger? Thwarting the bandits’ activities was important, but it could have been a trap or he could turn out to be even worse than them. Not to mention the looks he gave her, and the stupid nicknames.

She sighed again. What would Master Therien think of her, refusing to help because of few remarks and baseless suspicions? _“Be kind and generous to the people of Tamriel, Aeyrin.”_ She admonished herself quietly, almost hearing those words in Master Therien’s voice.

She smiled to herself, remembering the simpler days during her time at the chapel, surrounded by trusted friends and mentors. It may not originally have been her idea, but she _did_ want to travel, to explore and experience. Yet at that very moment she would have given anything to be back in those quiet halls.

...

Bishop was staring into the empty bottom of his tankard. He looked over his shoulder at Orgnar, raising his mug to indicate he wanted another one.

His thoughts went back to Karnwyr and what those bastards might be subjecting him to. He hated that he was taking so long, but he saw the bandits and he knew the cave – it was practically just one large room and there were dozens of them. He couldn’t sneak in and take them out without alerting all of them at once. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he needed help. It would not help Karnwyr if he got himself killed trying to free him alone.

He glanced at the closed door to Aeyrin’s room. The girl was the only one he saw that looked at least ready for battle. Hopefully she wasn’t too incompetent, but he would find out on the way, with any luck _before_ they were surrounded by the bandits.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about her insistence to go to Whiterun first but it wasn’t that far out of the way and she said it wouldn’t take long – she seemed the honest type, too honest for her own good most likely. And who just offers to help a stranger take on a group of bandits anyway?

She wasn’t local, that was for sure. No elf that spent any time in Skyrim would be this eager and helpful. That girl was gonna get herself killed all too soon. Shame, she was pretty. And it was kind of cute how she got flustered so easily. Hopefully she’d warm his bedroll on the way; that would at least take some sting out of things.

He downed the mead that Orgnar put in front of him and got up. He thought for a minute about knocking on the door to her room, wondering if she would be up for some fun but he thought better of it. She did not seem too responsive to him before and he still needed her help.

Karnwyr was more important.


	3. On the Road Again

The morning came all too soon.

Aeyrin was awoken by a sharp ray of light, refracted through the window on her sun-tanned face. She got up groggily and stretched. Unlike last night, her dreams weren’t plagued by the images of the headsman’s axe and the searing flames covering Helgen, rather her memories of the grand halls of the chapel lulled her to sleep. With the smell of incense and old wood from the pews and the image of scintillating colors on the floor as the dawning sun reached the stained glass on her mind, a slight smile played on her face. She clung to the memories for as long as she could, not thinking about the uncertainties of the journey ahead.

Bishop kept glancing at the closed door to her room. Sleep eluded him and he’d been sitting in the common room of the tavern for at least two hours now. What was taking her so long? The longer they waited the more danger Karnwyr was in. He tried to imagine him escaping his captors, sinking his teeth in their throats and charging away to find Bishop. But these thoughts hardly brought comfort for long. There were no heroics and happy endings in this fucked up world. If Karnwyr tried to fight the bandits, it was more likely that it would be the end of him. But he knew that Karnwyr was smart enough to know that – the wolf knew exactly when to fight and when not to.

Finally the door to her room opened as she came out, a slight smile still on her face when she nodded at Bishop in greeting.

“Finally, woman! What took you so long?” he rushed her towards the table they shared where a readied breakfast was already awaiting her.

“The sun’s barely up…” she protested as she sat herself at the table, her smile gone already, replaced by a pout.

“Didn’t you say you have _urgent_ business?!” he all but snapped at her. She gave him a level look but didn’t respond further. It was clear he was on edge. But why did he insist on keeping up the pretenses? It was obvious that he was more concerned about his wolf than any business of hers.

Aeyrin tried to eat her breakfast as quickly as possible and neither of them spoke again until they finally left the inn.

…

Bishop seemed to relax a little when they set out towards Whiterun. He still looked a bit on edge and he had dark circles under his eyes, but at least the deep scowl was gone from his forehead.

Aeyrin thought of trying to strike up a conversation to clear the tension at least a little. She thought of several questions she would like to ask about the wolf but reconsidered after a while of pondering his reaction – she did not miss that scowl.

“So… you are a tracker?” she asked, finally deciding on a non-confrontational topic.

“Tracker, ranger, whatever you wanna call it, princess,” he nodded, his eyes still fixed on the winding road ahead.

“Aeyrin,” she smiled politely. It wasn’t surprising that he forgot her name – he had a lot on his mind.

He gave her a confused looked followed by the all too familiar amused smirk. “Yeah you said already.”

She sighed, she had a feeling he was winding her up on purpose. “You could try using it then,” she grumbled.

“I’ll try, sweetness,” he grinned at her insolently in response.

“What do you do, then? Besides eagerly offering your help to strangers, that is,” he eyed her equipment for a while – her iron armor of a very poor quality – with her shoulder blades only covered by a bundled up tunic and her slightly wavy gold-blond hair, her rusty mace and a small buckler fastened on her lower back.

“I’m just a traveler, kind of,” she shrugged. She learned the hard way that the reason for her journey to Skyrim was not a thing to share with everyone – Hadvar gave her plenty of reasons to keep her mouth shut.

Bishop didn’t pry further, still scanning her armor with a frown: “That’s one shitty protection, princess.” He pointed his finger and pricked her between the shoulder blades, covered only by her hair and the top of her baggy tunic. She yelped in surprise and gave him an alarmed look. “See? That could have been an arrow,” he raised an eyebrow at her.

She looked at him for a while, contemplating whether to tell him what happened. “I… messed up the measurements a bit,” her face reddened and she turned her gaze to the ground.

“You _made_ this?!” he chuckled, “Damn, princess, you would’ve been better off, prying some armor off of a corpse,” he gave her a lopsided grin.

“I did, but it was pointed out to me that his friends wouldn’t take kindly to seeing me in his armor,” she answered, sulking. His mocking was getting to her. The armor may not have turned out exactly as she imagined but she tried her best and learned a lot. _The reward that Zenithar wishes for us to discover is in the work itself, hidden in the very act of making—the fruits of your labor are lesser prizes when compared._ She wondered if she should share the little piece of wisdom with Bishop, but again reconsidered. He would likely only make fun of her again.

“Whose cold fingers did you pry the armor from?” he looked at her curiously.

She paused. She certainly didn’t want to give impression of any allegiance. Then again, Hadvar and Alvor made it clear that no-one in their right mind would consider her part of the rebellion. Funny… Hadvar didn’t seem to have a problem with the premise when he ushered her towards the headsman. If Bishop sympathized with the Stormcloaks, he probably wouldn’t even approach an elf. Then again, she’s already trusted their kind twice, only to barely escape with her life each time.

“A soldier,” she sighed, hoping he wouldn’t pry further.

He smirked: “Troubles with the rebels, ladyship?”

She looked at him wide-eyed, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” he raised both his hands in mock surrender “I don’t give a fuck about their war. Just figured, an elven girl would look kind of shifty in one of their get-ups,” he grinned.

…

It didn’t take long before the skyline of the city appeared in front of them. They walked down the winding road beside a small stream leading towards the farms and settlements surrounding Whiterun. Aeyrin took in the beautiful pastoral surroundings before them as they made their way across the stream towards the city gates. Most of the farms seemed strangely empty as they passed them and when they made their way to the city approach, they were only met with eerily abandoned merchant stalls.

“Halt!” the two guards at the doors crossed their halberds before them.

“The fuck’s going on?” Bishop barked at them impatiently.

“Scouts report strange sightings. The city’s closed until we investigate,” the guards answered adamantly, their weapons still stubbornly blocking their entry.

“We have business inside. What strange sightings?” Bishop grumbled angrily, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

The guards exchanged an uncertain look before answering: “There’s been some sightings of a… a large beast in the skies.” One of them cleared his throat uncomfortably; the other instinctively looked up at the clouds.

“What, you saw a dragon?” Bishop smirked mockingly but the guards only shuffled their feet nervously.

“I have news of the dragon,” Aeyrin announced suddenly, “I need to speak to the jarl.”

The guards gave her a dubious look and Bishop turned to her – if she didn’t know any better, she’d say there was genuine shock hidden behind his scowl. “What the fuck, princess?!”

Aeyrin sighed and continued to address the guards: “The dragon destroyed Helgen, please I have to talk to the jarl.”

The guards stared at her for a while longer, then reluctantly retracted their weapons and opened the gate for them.

The city looked beautiful. It reminded Aeyrin of Bruma – it was exactly as she imagined Skyrim cities to look – the picturesque wooden buildings surrounded by plenty of trees and mountain flowers, the pleasant smell from the chimneys and neat cobbled streets.

The eeriness of the scene however overshadowed the impression immediately. The city stood completely empty, save for a few guards walking around nervously. It seemed the Jarl took his scouts’ reports seriously and ordered his citizens to remain inside. Bishop looked particularly uneasy, and immediately turned to Aeyrin: “Mind telling me what the fuck’s going on, princess?”

“There was… a dragon in Helgen. A large black one with strange wings. It burned the whole city to the ground. I managed to get out of there with a help of an Imperial soldier, but only barely. He went to report what happened to his general and his family asked me to tell the jarl, so that he can send soldiers to protect Riverwood in case… in case it comes back,” Aeyrin watched him for a while, awaiting his reaction with a hint of trepidation.

“Why didn’t you tell people in Riverwood?” he frowned after processing the information for some time.

“They didn’t think it was a good idea to raise panic in the village. They just wanted protection from the jarl,” she sighed. She discussed this with Hadvar’s family and they all agreed it was the best course of action.

Bishop regarded her for a while, as if determining whether she was telling the truth. “That’s it? You just do whatever the fuck they tell you to, because… what?”

“What do you mean? The village needs to be protected if it comes back,” Aeyrin frowned at him in confusion.

“And so you just keep your pretty mouth shut as they tell you to and do exactly what they asked, even though you could just leave that place and never come back,” he narrowed his eyes in a strange bout of suspicion.

Aeyrin looked at him dumbfounded for a while before reacting: “There’s people there! You would just leave them to burn?”

“Let them deal with their own shit. It’s not your problem.”

“Neither’s your wolf, yet here we are,” she threw her arms in exasperation.

“I fucking told you I don’t need your help!” he glared at her for a while then turned away with a deep sigh. “Whatever. The jarl’s place is up there,” he pointed to a high-set large wooden building towering above the city. “If you still want to come I’ll be at the tavern… unless you’re taking too long,” he scoffed and started walking towards what appeared to be the town square without looking back.

What was his problem? Aeyrin was hardly used to such callous disregard. If the dragon decided to attack Riverwood on its way from Helgen, Bishop would likely be just as dead as the rest of the villagers and he has the gall to lecture her on how she should mind her own business.

Aeyrin shook her head and headed through the cobbled streets towards the large building Bishop pointed out. She noticed a few faces peeking behind the windows at her curiously but she mostly ignored them.

She contemplated leaving Bishop to ‘deal with his own shit’ as he so colorfully put it. He was the one who needed help yet he would scoff at others who asked for it. At least Hadvar’s family didn’t constantly try to convince her that they do not need her. She shook her head with a sigh as she continued through the empty city.

Maybe it _would_ be better to part ways with him, even though the bandits needed to be stopped.

She started to imagine the tongue lashing she would get for these thoughts from Master Therien: “ _You promised your aid and now you would withdraw it when things cease to be simple. We protect, heal and give as is needed, not as is requested.”_ She smiled at the memory of her old mentor.

It was often difficult to adhere to Stendarr’s doctrines, but if Master Therien were to give up on them when things became murky, her life would likely have turned out very differently. She at times wondered what would have happened to her without the priest’s help and the scenarios she ran in her head always made her shiver with fright.

Bishop reached the door to The Bannered Mare with angry swift strides. _This_ is what was keeping him from reaching Karnwyr?! An errand girl playing a hero?! What did he care for that stupid village?! It’s not like a few more guards would help anyway. If what she was saying was true, then the dragon could level the village in a matter of seconds. Helgen was full of soldiers and what did it get them?

He pulled at the door handle briskly only to find the tavern locked. “Of course,” he chuckled to himself in frustration and rested his forehead against the door.

He turned on his heel after a moment and headed towards the gates. His steps became slower and shorter with each one taken.

Again he went through the layout of the cave in his head. How many bandits? He saw five on the outside when he scouted the location but he tracked at least seven of them dragging Karnwyr away. No telling how many on the inside and the captive wolves would likely attack him too if the bandits let them out.

He stopped only a few steps before reaching the city gates. Attacking alone was suicide. And he didn’t wait this long only to give up now. No – he had to make sure he would save Karnwyr. Patience – just like a hunt. He turned back again and headed towards Dragonsreach.

…

The sun was almost setting when she left the jarl’s grand halls. Both the jarl’s court wizard and his general asked about every detail of the attack – how the flames of the dragon looked and felt, how fast they spread, in which patterns did it fly and so many other questions, most of which Aeyrin had no answers for as she was too busy running for her dear life. Not to mention the long negotiations with the Jarl to send help to Riverwood, which in turn dragged into a discussion on the other settlements in his hold and their own protection.

Aeyrin was sure Bishop had already left. She would check the tavern, just in case, but she fully intended to return to Riverwood as quickly as possible. She might make it before it got too dark and then she could head out to look for the wizard’s stone in the morning.

As she was descending the steps she noticed a familiar figure in black leather armor sitting at their base.

Surprisingly enough, Bishop did not look angry when she stopped beside him. His face showed a small hint of something else – resignation?

“Done?” he looked up at her, his eyes seemed weary. She only nodded. She refused to apologize for taking too long, not after his earlier outburst.

He got up and informed her with a stony face: “The bandits are not likely to sleep through the night so there’s not much advantage in taking them on in the darkness. The inn’s closed though. We should make camp somewhere on the way.”


	4. Reunion

Bishop didn’t say a word during the entirety if their trek, he merely pointed out a suitable place to set up camp.

They were both siting by the fire, filling up on a mushroom stew made from Bishop’s supplies.

Aeyrin still wasn’t sure whether he was angry with her, but more and more it looked like he was just increasingly worried about his friend. She watched the fire glitter in his amber eyes for a while, thinking on how to talk to him, without making things any tenser between them.

Before she came up with something, however, Bishop grabbed a dry stick from the fireplace and started to draw an oval in the dirt. “The cave’s mostly one big room, but if we’re careful we may be able to flank them…” he started to point out and sketch various points around the cave and explain how to best approach the bandits.

After some time of discussing the enemy numbers and the probable placement of the wolf-cages Bishop stopped talking again. Aeyrin tore her gaze from his crude drawing to look at him, only to find his eyes fixed on her face.

“Thanks, princess,” the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, returning to their original morose position only a second later.

“We’ll get him out, don’t worry,” she smiled at him in return, pleased that the mood finally felt a bit less antagonistic.

They spent the remainder of the evening in a more amicable mood, much to Aeyrin’s relief. She was glad that the trust she placed in her teachings was not misguided, even if it seemed so in the beginning.

She even found herself enjoying his company, when he wasn’t permanently scowling and swearing. She spent so much of her life sheltered in the chapel that she enjoyed the spirit, merriment and even the crudeness of the people she met during her travels. Bishop may have been a bit more brash and temperamental then she was used to but it became even endearing in a way – it only showed that cared deeply for his companion and was willing to do whatever it took to save him.

Aeyrin told Bishop about the wizard’s request to retrieve the stone from the ruins near Riverwood. Bishop rolled his eyes when she mentioned that she offered to help but did not comment on it this time around.

“I’ll be heading back to Riverwood after this anyway, might as well show you the way,” he shrugged noncommittally, much to her surprise. She did not expect him to offer his company so casually, after all the hassle.

Eventually, they went to sleep early. As Bishop pointed out, if they managed to get to the cave just after dawn, some of the bandits might be still drunk or passed out from the previous night.

Again he wondered about relieving some tension with her before the fight, but there was the chance that that would preoccupy them for a long time. They needed to be rested first. Karnwyr was at stake and there was no harm in offering _after_ he was rescued.

…

They packed up the camp before dawn and headed in the direction of the cavern, both silent with anticipation.

It only took half an hour before they got the entrance to the bandits’ lair in their sights as they crouched on a nearby hill, hidden by trees and bushes all around them.

The path to the cavern was narrow with not a lot of room to maneuver. There was thick shrubbery above the old rotten wooden door to the cave but other than that, there was really nothing but rocks and hillsides around. There were only three bandits on the lookout, and one of them was snoring loudly on a rickety chair. The other two were standing by the cavern entrance with bored expressions.

“Damn, I expected more of them,” Bishop grumbled with narrowed eyes. “That means one of two things… a much rougher fight inside, or some of their friends hiding around here with their bows trained on the entrance.”

Aeyrin watched the scene for a while. She could take those two by herself if Bishop covered her back, she just needed to catch them off guard.

“I can go distract them, anyone hiding will have to move to aim at me and you can take them out.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, scanning the scene before them again: “And what about those two lugheads?”

“I can handle them, just remember to shoot the sleeping one when they attack,” she flashed him a smile and already descended from their vantage point.

Bishop wanted to protest a bit more, but she was already gone. He trained his eyes on the shrubbery around the cave to spot any signs of movement, hoping her confidence was well earned. If not, at least they didn’t see him. He could still go back and find help elsewhere, as much as that thought irritated him.

The bandits tensed considerably as they saw her approach. She raised her hands in surrender to them and stopped a small distance away.

“What do you want?” the dark elf barked at her, annoyed.

The Nord next to him grinned widely instead. “Don’t be rude to the girl, maybe she’s lonely,” he laughed heartily, leering at her lecherously.

“I just wanted to ask for directions,” Aeyrin made another soothing gesture with her hands, giving them an innocent smile.

“I don’t think so, you’re not leaving here girl,” the elf scowled at her menacingly, his red eyes narrowed to thin slits as he reached for his sword threateningly. Luckily, he did not unsheathe it just yet.

“Why don’t you just come inside with us, sweetie and he won’t have to hurt you,” the Nord grinned at her again and gestured towards the old rotten wooden door to the cavern, outstretching his hand towards her. It was an invitation now, but as soon as she tried to back off, she knew he would grab at her.

“No really… hold on, I’ll show you!” Aeyrin reached for the map fastened to her hip next to her weapon. The bandits looked at each other with a confused shrug, the elf’s hand still on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Suddenly a sickening crack of crushed bones echoed through the woods as she swung the iron head of her mace across the elf’s face with flourish, a spray of blood hitting both the dumbfounded Nord and herself.

“What the fuck?!” the Nord yelled and reached for the battle-axe on his back immediately as an arrow swished through the air into the thick shrubbery above the cave entrance, quickly followed by another.

The Nord heaved and smashed the axe over his head towards Aeyrin but he was too slow with that thing. She managed to dodge the blow and threw herself at the Nord’s torso, elbow first, throwing his large body out of balance. She quickly turned and swung her mace at the back of his head, hearing another crackling of bones.

Satisfied with the state she left the two entrance guards in, she turned around to see the previously sleeping bandit behind her choking and gurgling with an arrow lodged into his throat, the blood spraying through his desperate fingers pawing at the wound. Again she swung her mace at his head, putting him out of his misery once and for all.

A few moments later, Bishop approached her, stepping over the elf’s mangled body disinterestedly. “Pretty impressive, princess,” he grinned at her approvingly.

“You too,” she smiled in return, wiping the blood spatter from her face.

“Ready for a real fight?” he smirked as they carefully approached the cave entrance, their weapons at the ready, their eyes and ears trained on any little sight and sound.

…

The fight was brutal. There were more than fifteen bandits in the cavern and several more people that looked like ordinary peasants or farmers – likely there to gamble on the wolf fights.

Bishop snuck onto a wooden platform by the entrance, training his bow into the crowd while Aeyrin charged one of the bandits. Bishop let her take the lead and only shot anyone who got close to her – if he were to start shooting anyone in his sights, someone might have snuck up on her and it certainly wouldn’t take them long before they found him afterwards. Aeyrin was good at goading them and getting their attention and she could face any of them in a fight – all he had to do was make sure that she didn’t get surrounded and overwhelmed.

Luckily, the civilians made a break for it when they noticed that Aeyrin wasn’t targeting them. One or two attempted to help the bandits, only to be met with an arrow piercing their flesh minutes later. Most of them got the message and ran straight towards the cavern exit.

Finally they found themselves in an empty cavern, bodies splayed on the ground lying in pools of their own blood. The wolf that managed to win the last fight was growling menacingly from the central pen, barking and biting at the poorly constructed wooden bars holding him inside the fighting pit.

Aeyrin was breathing heavily, resting on her knees at the ground. There were some cuts and scratches on some parts of her body not covered in armor – the largest one was of course all across her shoulder blades.

Bishop approached her from the shadows, a smug smirk on his face. None of the bandits even had time to look for him in his hiding place, all too preoccupied with the chaos Aeyrin caused. He circled her, looking at her back for a while, before a snort escaped his lips.

“Told you,” he laughed, seeing the blood soaking her tunic.

She hated getting wounds on her back where her hands couldn’t reach. The clerics didn’t think the healing spells through. She once saw one of the older priests use a spell which healed a soldier’s whole body at once. She tried to convince him to teach it to her, but the attempt was only met with a lecture on responsibility with magic and how she should consider whether she is ready to wield such power.

“I’m alright,” she sighed. “Let’s find your friend.”

They made their way into the adjacent room separated only by a few makeshift fences. There, in the corner, several iron cages stood, each filled with a growling starved wolf.

The brown-furred wolf in the middle cage sat up and started barking excitedly. He looked a little worse for the wear – a few deep bites and torn out patches of fur but none of it seemed life-threatening.

Bishop promptly knelt by the cage’s padlock and took out his lockpicks. The lock snapped open in a matter of seconds and the wolf jumped at Bishop’s direction, barking and licking at his face happily.

Aeyrin has never seen a wolf behave like that; he was more like a dog. But Bishop claimed he wasn’t his pet… it seemed he wasn’t tamed and domesticated then. She wondered just how he managed to earn such devotion from a wild animal.

Karnwyr soon took notice of her, approaching her warily, sniffing at the ground around her feet. She gave him a smile and extended her hand gently. She let the wolf get familiar with her on his own pace. _Respect nature’s power, and fear her fury._ After observing her for some time, Karnwyr sniffed her hand carefully, circling her slowly then sniffing her hand again.

After a few more moments of consideration, he barked happily and started to lick at her hand. She scratched him behind on of his ears, careful not to touch any wounded areas of his body and he nuzzled his face to her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Karnwyr,” she laughed. “How about we take care of the wounds?”

He inclined his head with a questioning whine as she lightly moved her hand over one of the deep bite-marks on his skin. The warm light of healing magic started to emanate from her fingers momentarily. Karnwyr startled at it at first, but as the soothing magic spread through his wound, he calmed himself and stood still until she was finished.

Bishop watched the scene unfold curiously. He’s never before seen Karnwyr warm up to someone so quickly. The whole time he expected him to bite her or even lunge at her, but he stood perfectly still as she ran her hands over every visible wound she could find in his fur.

After the process was done, Karnwyr barked happily and ran back to Bishop to nuzzle his leg. Bishop scratched Karnwyr’s ear absentmindedly, his eyes fixed on Aeyrin who only smiled at him demurely.

“What about the other wolves?” she broke the silence and pointed to the growling wolves in their cages.

“They’d attack us. Or each other,” he shook his head. “Maybe the bandits have some meat around; we can leave that here and free them on our way out. With luck, they’ll go after it rather than after us,” he pondered but his attention was soon stolen as he headed towards the chests and drawers at the other end of the room. “Let’s see if there’s some shit that could be worth anything.”

Aeyrin went back towards the large bar in the previous room to look for some meat they could leave for the wolves. It didn’t matter how aggressive they were, they didn’t deserve to starve inside those cages. If they had to defend themselves from them, at least they would not suffer for long.

She searched through some of the crates behind the filthy bar when a glint in a small box caught her attention. She opened the box to find several small dark purple bottles stashed inside – she recognized them immediately. She put the bottles at the counter and started to frantically search through the rest of the crates for any more. Eventually she scoured every nook and cranny and came up with a several more bottles, putting them on the counter with the rest.

After her thorough search, she finally found some raw meat they could leave to the wolves and placed it at the other side of the bar, far from the bottles.

Bishop sat himself behind the counter, raising an eyebrow at Aeyrin’s collection.

“You got something with a kick for me back there, sweetness?” he leaned over the counter, peering at her crouched body among the boxes.

Aeyrin looked around and passed him an opened wine bottle with unidentified liquid inside: “If you dare,” she grinned at him. The liquid was certainly suspect enough.

Bishop smelled the bottle neck and took a swig from it with a shrug.

“You know, princess, not my business, but that shit will mess you up,” he inclined his head towards the pile of purple bottles, shaking his head with a slight scowl. It wasn’t as if he cared what she did, but it would be a shame to see her pretty face get all ragged. Besides, what was the point in that? It never helped anyone.

“I know,” she grumbled with a hint of anger in her voice.

Suddenly she unclasped her mace and aimed the iron head at the pile, swinging with all her might. Some of the bottles flew away from the impact and shattered all around the room, the rest ended up smashed under her mace, now only a pile of glass shards and a dripping odorless liquid.

Bishop stared at her for a while then broke out in a roaring laughter: “What was that, princess? Your own private crusade against the skooma trade?” She was probably thinking she was doing something heroic by this… some ‘greater good’ or shit like that.

Aeyrin didn’t answer, cleaning her mace with a dirty rug from the bandits’ supplies.

“You know this is not gonna change shit, right? You get rid of a few bottles and there’s twice as many around the corner,” he smirked at her, taking another swig from the dubious bottle. He himself found it hard not to encounter that stuff at every turn, but then again, it may have been because of the people he usually interacted with.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she shrugged with a solemn expression, not elaborating any further. She merely sat down next to him, taking off her pauldrons and running her healing hands over any cuts that she could reach.

…

They left soon after. The wolves they freed tore into the supply of meat hungrily, not paying them much attention letting them walk away without any further bloodshed.

They headed back towards Riverwood as Karnwyr started eagerly running around the plains, happy to be finally free and healthy again. The mood was much better now and even the conversation flowed a bit easier.

Eventually, they made it to the Riverwood bridge even before dusk and Bishop pointed out the path to the ruins that Aeyrin promised to search for the jarl’s wizard.

“So, princess, wanna join me for a drink? I doubt you have it in you to plunder that place without some rest first,” he smirked at her, inclining his head towards the village nearby.

Aeyrin nodded happily. Before they reached Whiterun, she couldn’t wait to part his company, but she gave a promise and the bandits needed to be stopped. Now she wasn’t so sure. Ever since things calmed down after Whiterun, she even enjoyed his company. He was constantly mocking her and the nicknames were more than annoying, but the journey still seemed more enjoyable with him around. Aeyrin had never traveled with anyone; she met a lot of people on the road but always only briefly.

She wondered if she should search for someone else who would be willing to travel with her, but it still made her a little sad to leave Bishop and Karnwyr – strange after only a few days, but fighting side by side did seem to garner some closeness. There was certainly no harm in asking him to come with her.

She smiled at him and followed him to The Sleeping Giant Inn, the words of Dibella’s command ringing in her ears: _Treasure the gifts of friendship._

Karnwyr made himself comfortable by the inn door as they made their way into the tavern.

Aeyrin sat at the corner table where they sat together only a few days ago as Bishop returned from the bar with two tankards of mead and sat himself beside her.

Aeyrin figured she would ask him to travel with her later. If nothing came of it, perhaps they could at least remain friends and see each other whenever she made her way back to Riverwood. The prospect of having at least someone in Skyrim who she could talk to was calming. There was always Alvor and his family, but she already felt like she imposed on them – that hardly garnered the ambiance for friendship. Then again, she didn’t even know whether he stayed there for longer than a few nights. Perhaps he travelled too much for them to be able to meet.

“So, where did you come from, princess?” he asked, downing at least half the tankard in one large swig.

“Cyrodiil. Chorrol, originally, then I travelled all over,” she said wistfully, thinking back on the three years she spent travelling from city to city, meeting new people, exploring, adventuring and helping.

“Yeah? I spent a lot of time in Cyrodiil. Traveled a lot too, then I came back here.”

“You were born in Skyrim?”

He nodded in response, downing the rest of his mead and gesturing at Orgnar.

“What brought you back here?” she asked curiously.

He didn’t answer for a while then he shook his head: “Just some shit not worth talking about, princess…” he paused for a bit again, then looked up at her. “Tell me about your travels. Why did you come here?”

“You’ll make fun of me,” she eyed him with mocked disapproval, pouting a bit. Her journey really didn’t seem like something that would speak to him.

“Possibly,” he laughed and nodded at her encouragingly to signal his interest in her answer. It was likely some shit about helping the people in affected by the war or something like that. She seemed to like to offer help to whomever and whenever she could – a stupid habit.

“I’m here on a… pilgrimage of sorts,” she smiled, swirling the liquid in her tankard idly, staring down at it.

“A pilgrimage?” he frowned “Like the seven thousand steps thing?” He never really paid much attention to the people doing that. It seemed pointless. All that religious crap was pointless. It only made people into fanatics.

She gave him a confused look.

“It’s a thing some people do, climbing the Throat of the World. Couldn’t tell you why. Seems fucking daft to make the trek without reason,” he shrugged. He never really had a reason to climb all the way up to the monastery on the mountain, but he reckoned it was nothing special – a big mountain and a stone building. If he wanted to see that, he could just go to Windhelm.

Aeyrin shook her head, pondering a bit if she should explain. He seemed rather dismissive about spiritual things.

“I grew up in the temple in Chorrol. I was educated in the ways of the Eight but the temple was mostly dedicated to Stendarr…” she looked at him, waiting for some snide comment or some insult to her upbringing, but he said nothing and waited for her to continue.

“The priest there spoke of… enlightenment and fulfillment in their duty. I never felt like I understood that. My mentor thought that staying in the temple was not the right path for me, that perhaps focusing Stendarr’s teachings wasn’t enough for me. He suggested that I go out into the world and… experience the Eight’s teachings rather than just read about them,” she played with the tankard again, looking at him expectantly.

She was a priestess? Fuck, he hated priests. After what he saw religious crap do to his family… Then again not everyone was as insane and overzealous. She did seem… normal. And she didn’t really try to preach at him and spew platitudes like all the other priests he ever met.

He inclined his head after a while of scowling deeply: “What does that mean?”

“I’m still not sure,” she laughed a bit nervously “I travel and try to experience the values that the Eight praise. I help where I’m able to honor Stendarr, work to honor Zenithar, spend time away from civilization to honor Kynareth…” she shrugged, a bit at a loss for words on how to explain properly.

“So you needed a reason to live like a free person?” he raised an eyebrow at her rather disdainfully.

“No, it’s about faith and purpose, about finding your place in life.”

Bishop shook his head with a frown: “Why would you need some God’s approval to do what you want? What have any of them ever done for you? Decide your own damn place in life.”

“It’s not about approval…” she sighed, shaking her head. She didn’t expect him to understand, but her goal was certainly not to convert anyone to her way of thinking. It was her own journey, her own role to uncover.

“Well, whatever, princess,” he shrugged, obviously not interested in discussing religion.

“So why Skyrim?” he realized the unanswered question after a bit of awkward silence.

Aeyrin got nervous. Her adherence to Julianos’s doctrine to observe the law has hit a bit of a snag with her new obsession. She did not believe that a Divine should be forsaken at the behest of the Dominion, and there was now precious little lore available on Talos in Cyrodiil. Bishop made it clear he cared neither for the war or the Divines, but she had already made the mistake of sharing too much with people. When she told Hadvar, he almost looked ready to attack her.

“Just some shit not worth talking about,” she smiled at him wryly, eliciting a laugh from him in return.

“Fair enough, princess.”

…

As the evening went on, Aeyrin’s wound on her shoulders became increasingly uncomfortable. She drank a potion but the wound didn’t close and she feared it would get infected if she didn’t have it dressed soon.

“You need help with that, sweetness?” he smirked as he noticed her constantly fidgeting and rubbing herself on the back of her neck.

“I can’t reach it with my spells,” she sighed with frustration, outstretching her hand down her back to demonstrate.

“Come on,” he drank the rest of his mead and headed to the counter to pay for a room. Hopefully, one would be enough…

As they entered the room, Aeyrin took off her armor and searched her pack for her poultices and herbal salves. She turned her back to Bishop with a slight blush, pulled her tunic carefully over her head to bare her back and bundled it to cover her front.

She sat on the bed with her back to him; he grabbed her healing supplies and positioned himself behind her, gently running his calloused hand over the deep cut.

“It looks pretty bad, sweetness. Why didn’t you say something?”

She attempted to shrug but the wound stung her again, eliciting a muffled hiss from her.

Bishop took a cloth from the washbasin near the bed and started cleaning her wound, moving her gold-blond locks from the way with surprising gentleness. As he started to rub the herbal salve into and around the wound, Aeyrin suddenly startled as she felt his warm breath at the nape of her neck, tickling her bare skin.

“You know, princess, I could help you with that pilgrimage of yours,” he murmured in an oddly low voice, his face right by her ears.

She got a little flustered at how close he suddenly felt to her, but his offer pleasantly surprised her. She didn’t expect him to accept when she asked, let alone to offer his assistance on his own accord.

“You would?” she gasped lightly as he pressed into her back, running his rough hands over her tan shoulders.

“Sure,” he seemed to lean in even closer, brushing the back of his hand on the side of her neck “I’m not much for religion, but I’ll more than happily help you honor Dibella.”

“By the Gods, Bishop!” Aeyrin yelped, realizing what he meant, and turned to him in shock, clutching her tunic to her chest.

Bishop looked confused for a while then laughed: “And you seemed so excited a minute ago.”

“I thought you were offering to travel with me!” she shook her head a bit incredulously, her hands digging into the fabric of her tunic nervously.

Bishop laughed again, before giving her a sly smile: “So I take it you don’t wanna honor Dibella with me?”

Aeyrin’s face turned deep crimson. “We barely know each other!” she shook her head. How was he still laughing and not embarrassed by this?

“I thought that was the point,” he winked at her with a smirk “You can relax, princess. It was just an offer.”

She eyed him dubiously for a bit, then turned her back to him again to get her tunic quickly back in place.

“There are other ways to honor Dibella, you know.” she shook her head at him admonishingly, her face still bright red.

“Really? I’d be interested in hearing about those,” he smirked as he gathered her poultices back in her satchel and handed them to her, clearly still thinking about something not at all secular.

“I can show you. But I’d have to get the right equipment for it.” she smiled at him then turned an even deeper shade of red at his raised eyebrows. What was he thinking now? This man certainly had a talent for flustering her. Bishop’s eyes fixed on her a second later, a pleased grin splayed across his face. She couldn’t tell what he was imagining but she had a feeling that if she asked, she wouldn’t be able to get rid of her blush for several days.

“With offers like these, princess I may be tempted to actually follow you wherever you want me to,” he winked at her, the grin still not leaving his face.

She chuckled lightly, then looked in his eyes sincerely. “You know, I was gonna ask, actually. It was nice… traveling with someone,” she shuffled her feet nervously, “We made a pretty good team I thought…”

He looked at her thoughtfully for what seemed like a long time, then he shrugged: “Well… the mead’s not going anywhere. And you’re not half bad with the stick.” he winked at her yet again, smirking rather maliciously at her flustered face.

She shook her head again with a slight smile, took her pack and armor and headed to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

…

Bishop sat at the corner table, waiting for Aeyrin to appear.

He wondered if he made a mistake agreeing to travel with the girl. She was capable and helped him out a lot, but she seemed like the type to dive head first into every shitty problem she came across. Fuck, she had a whole religious philosophy based on that. He certainly didn’t feel like listening to people whine about their problems and relying on someone else to solve them.

Then again, there was not much harm in trying it out for a while. He could leave anytime he wanted. Besides, the view would be nice, following her around.

He smiled to himself. It was pretty fun to make that girl blush, and really easy too. Small wander, since she was cloistered, or some such. He really hated preachers, but she wasn’t really pushy about all the religious crap. Hopefully that will stay that way. He wondered how hard it would be to get her to throw away those inhibitions. He didn’t even remember the last time he had to actually make an effort to get a girl in his bed. It would be a welcome challenge.

Aeyrin emerged from the bathroom, the ends of her hair still wet.

She couldn’t help but blush a little, sitting herself beside Bishop, remembering everything that happened last night.

“Are you gonna be wearing that color the whole time, sweetness?” he smirked “It suits you.”

Aeyrin hid her face in her palms and groaned “Please, stop,” she sighed “And again, it’s Aeyrin,” she gave him a meaningful look.

“Yep, I remember, princess,” he grinned at her again.

She shook her head again but couldn’t help but smile a little. He was exasperating, but for some reason she couldn’t help but be flattered by his comments.


	5. The Wall

Bishop left the trader with two pouches of coins.

The things they liberated from the bandits’ hideout fetched even more than he thought. Another reason, why it might be good to follow Aeyrin around for a while – he was sure that ancient burial grounds would fetch more coin then what he made by selling game and pelts.

He looked again at the pouch in his right hand.

He still wasn’t sure why he didn’t sell the amulet, but he left it inside the pouch for her to find. When he found it among the loot, his first thought was that she’s like it. Weird. He was probably just grateful for her help with Karnwyr. Yeah, that was definitely it.

He spotted her in the middle of the road, her hand placed on a shoulder of a crying dark-haired Imperial woman.

Great… it was already starting. People are gonna bitch and moan about every little thing and she’s gonna be running around, offering them help. Hopefully she’ll have enough sense to ask for rewards.

“I’ll get it back, I promise,” Aeyrin smiled at the woman reassuringly, her hand stroking her shoulder in comfort.

“Thank you so much,” the woman smiled back through her tears. “The buyer has already paid for it, without it we’re ruined,” the woman nodded at her in gratitude, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ once again before she stepped away from Aeyrin and headed past Bishop into the trader shop.

Bishop approached Aeyrin with a sigh and a raised eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a grumpy expression.

She chuckled at his reaction briefly. He seemed to have some inherent problem with helping people. Who has a problem with helping people? Besides, the trader would likely reward them – he seemed to be partial to money, although she did wonder what he needed it for. His lifestyle seemed to be mostly based on self-reliance. He probably just spent it all around taverns.

“Someone stole from their shop and made out with some golden claw thing in the direction of Bleak Falls Barrow. We were heading there anyways,” she smiled at him wryly, taking the pouch in his right hand from him.

Bishop smirked a bit, shaking his head at her: “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

…

The barrow was full of traps. Bishop made short work of them but Aeyrin almost walked into several when she wasn’t paying attention, much to Bishop’s frustration. She was used to the traps used by bandits or even those mechanisms found in Ayleid ruins back in Cyrodiil, but she never saw traps like those used in the ancient barrow. There even seemed to be puzzles – the ancient Nords were certainly inventive… and obviously very obsessed with guarding their treasures.

It was rather fascinating to see all there was to see in the elaborate dungeon. The most ancient thing she saw in Cyrodiil were the Ayleid ruins – they were mysterious and magical but there was not much a person could discern about the way the Wild Elves lived. They were nothing if not meticulous about keeping their cities neat and organized and stripped of any art and memorabilia. The Nordic ruins on the other hand were full of murals, old reliefs and engravings.

She stopped every once in a while to observe the surroundings with interest, asking Bishop about them. He didn’t really know the history of the ancient Nords but he did explain to her how some of the traps and mechanisms worked, or whether some things were unique to Bleak Falls Barrow or regularly used in other ruins.

They made their way through the cobwebs, traps and draugr rather successfully and they even managed to catch the thief and take back the golden claw, which much to Aeyrin’s fascination was then necessary to progress further into the barrow. The thief must have known about this – it was a shame he left them no choice but to kill him.

As they progressed, the onslaught of the undead seemed to be even more intense, but they managed to go on without much hassle or many nasty wounds.

Aeyrin was right, they made a good team. With her taking the frontal assault and Bishop covering her back, they never clashed in battle and synchronized without any trouble. Karnwyr would help out when things got dicey or ran around as a distraction when Aeyrin got overwhelmed on the front lines. Their pairing was working out well.

Aeyrin was feeling more at ease with someone watching her back and Bishop was actually enjoying himself more than he expected. In was a nice change after the years of hunting around the forests with only Karnwyr for company. Not that he minded before – he usually hated people, but this girl was turning out to be kind of fun to be around, for now at least. He knew one would tire of the other before long so there was no harm in enjoying the company for now.

…

They finally reached a large natural cavern with steps carved into the stone all around; a large wall with runic writing was poised at its center. It looked significant – the previous chambers were not nearly this enormous and the wall was standing further away tellingly prominently. Despite the hum of the waterfall, there seemed to be a strange sound echoing through the cavern – faint, but still discernable.

They approached the wall together tentatively, scanning for any remaining draugr or spiders.

Bishop looked around and promptly started to check the shelves and chests near the wall, looking for any useful loot. Karnwyr watched him attentively, ready for anything that might spring at them from the shadows, while Aeyrin approached the strange wall curiously, the faint sound seemingly louder in her ears.

The writing looked so… familiar. She moved slightly closer and the world around her seemed to darken. Bishop was saying something with his head buried in a chest but she couldn’t hear him. There was that sound – a throbbing drumming in her ears, constant and somewhat overwhelming. It was so loud. She felt a strange cold rise in her throat, and for a while some of the runes seemed to glow. She thought to herself that she should turn away, there was a feeling of dread filling her, but she couldn’t. Her feet were heavy and she could only move forward. The runes seemed to emanate a bright light now, the drumming stronger and louder, there was nothing else. The deafening sounds and the blinding light were the only things her senses could perceive. She felt like she was swaying on her feet but didn’t feel herself fall.

_FUS_

She thought that to herself. What was that? Why would she think such a strange word? She never heard it before… was it even a word? It felt like she heard yelling at the back of her head. Then everything went dark and quiet – the light was gone replaced by a black void and the drumming dissipated into a persistent maddening high ringing in her ears.

…

“Fucking look at me!” his yelling echoed through her ears.

She wanted to open her eyes but she suddenly realized they were already opened. She focused her sight, looking up at Bishop’s face, his deep scowl only matched by the shock in his eyes.

“Do you hear me?” his voice was finally more perceptible over the dissipating ringing.

She felt the pressure of his hands against her pauldrons, shaking her awake.

“Yes,” she answered quickly, there was something wet and cold trickling from her forehead.

“What the fuck, princess?!” he let go of her, his hand planted across his eyes in both exasperation and possibly relief.

She looked around, there was a dead draugr right in front of her, it looked larger than the rest they’ve encountered and wore a rather well-preserved heavy armor.

She reluctantly looked back towards the wall. It looked completely ordinary now. No glowing runes, no strange sounds… only a myriad of runes she didn’t recognize, the familiar feeling completely gone.

“What happened?” she looked back at Bishop, touching the coldness on her forehead, only to feel a sting of pain.

“What happened?” he scoffed “I thought you were watching out for danger, I was talking to you and you didn’t answer, the next thing I know, Karnwyr’s barking like crazy, jumping at this giant asshole,” he pointed to the draugr, “and you just stand there, staring at the fucking wall!”

He seemed to calm down a bit and brushed her hair back from the wet spot on her forehead. “That thing scratched at you before I could do anything. You went down like a log after that. Just staring at nothing,” he shook his head.

“Didn’t you see? The runes were glowing. And there was drumming or something…” she tried to explain hectically. It was impossible that she would be the only one to hear and see it - it was so loud, so blinding. He must have noticed something.

Bishop gave her a skeptical look and shook his head again. “Just… heal your head, princess. I found that stupid stone you were after. We’ll get you some rest soon.”

…

They stopped quickly by the trader to return the claw and went on their way towards Whiterun.

They stayed silent for the large part of the journey. At times, Bishop threw a somewhat concerned look at Aeyrin, which only served to aggravate her. He no doubt thought she was insane, after that whole incident. He just wasn’t paying attention! If he looked at the wall, he’d have seen the same thing for sure. It was a spell… or a strange curse or something… maybe a trap. There was an explanation for certain.

She was dying to ask him about the strange word, but that would only make things worse. He was already looking at her like she was going to go raving in madness at any moment. Dammit, why couldn’t he have looked at the wall too?

Bishop thought back on how she lay on the ground. He never thought to see her pitch-black eyes out of focus, but he did. There weren’t many Bosmer around Skyrim but he met plenty during his travels. He only saw those all-black eyes on two of them before and they always seemed… strange, even creepy. He couldn’t tell where they were looking and the eyes seemed oddly empty.

Not with her though. There was a strange life and sparkle to the black void, he never thought it possible before he met her.

But when she was lying there on the ground, blood trickling from her forehead, her eyes reminded him of the creepy emptiness he saw before. It’s not that he was concerned, she was fine. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was too bothered if she wasn’t fine either – people were far too easy to damage or kill, it was easier to count on that from the start. But the sight of her empty eyes was still surprisingly… disheartening.

“What does ‘fus’ mean?” she suddenly blurted out, biting her lip and mentally cursing herself for not being able to shut up.

“What?” he raised his eyebrows in surprise. What was she talking about now? Maybe the hit really did addle her more than it appeared…

“The word - ‘fus’. Have you heard it before?” she looked down on the ground nervously as she asked again, her brows creased in worry and contemplation.

“No… where did you hear that?” he asked despite having a feeling he already knew the answer. She was quiet and pondering ever since they left the barrow.

She sighed deeply, keeping her gaze lowered: “It was on that wall.”

Bishop stared at her for a while before answering. He thought she would say something like that, but it was still disturbing. There was nothing on the wall besides old markings. Maybe some scholars in Winterhold understood them but certainly not a girl who never even set foot in Skyrim before.

“Those were some ancient runes, princess… I doubt you would be able to read them…” he shook his head. She was being so weird. “Look, the blow to the head probably messed you up. You hit the ground pretty hard afterwards. Just don’t worry about it anymore,” he patted her shoulder briefly before continuing towards the city, dismissing any lingering thought about actually believing what she was saying. The blow to the head messing up her recollections was far more likely than that.

…

The city looked much livelier than the last time they visited.

It appeared that the Jarl decided that his security was sufficient enough and let his citizens leave their homes. There were a lot more guards walking around though.

The markets were busy and bustling as they passed them at the city approach and the large gate into the city proper was standing wide open, welcoming visitors – a staggering difference from their last visit.

They made their way into the city and Bishop propelled her straight towards The Bannered Mare, pointing out that she needed a rest… and that he needed a stiff drink.

When they entered the inn and headed straight to the bar, Bishop ordered a drink immediately and started to ask for their rooms as Aeyrin decided to head for the baths and clear her head a bit.

She could not get that word out of her mind.

She submerged herself into the tepid water and scoured through her pack for her herbal oil. The wounds on her arms and forehead were healed perfectly, but the cut on her back still needed some tending. Bishop did a good job, but without healing magic there was only so much he could do.

She thought about asking him to redress the wound and blushed involuntarily again at the memory. She was once before accused by a fellow cleric that she was hopelessly unable to recognize when someone showed a… personal interest in her. It was likely because this was generally avoided in the temple and she had little interpersonal interactions outside of it before leaving. Bishop’s straightforward approach was almost… refreshing. She certainly wasn’t left to wonder, even if she wasn’t going to act on anything with someone she only just met. It was true that the fact that they hardly left each other’s sides for the last few days made her already a little attached, but she knew that there was a large chance they would part ways soon and if she were to become more intimate with a man, she would not want it to be only for one night. She did enjoy it when he was joking and flirting with her though, much more than when he was watching her like she was a lunatic. She sighed again and started to rub the oil into her skin wherever she could reach.

Suddenly the doors snapped opened.

Aeyrin startled and covered herself as best as she could, her gaze falling on a Nord woman with shoulder-length wavy auburn hair and dark eye makeup.

“Sorry to disturb you,” she smiled in a friendly manner and set herself on a bench by the tub, directly facing Aeyrin. Her expression was kind but there was something else in her eyes – anger and sorrow. She straightened her long purple corset dress, a cheap charm bracelet on her left hand jingling with the motion.

Aeyrin’s mouth went ajar for a moment, not sure how to react before she managed to blurt something out, all the while trying to cover herself more and more frantically: “What are you doing?!” It’s not that she has never bathed with other women in the room, but the way she stared at her was incredibly unsettling. She wasn’t even pretending to be interested in bathing – she just sat there, right in front of her.

“Aaaww, don’t be shy, dear,” she smiled again. “I’m here as a friend, I promise.”

Aeyrin watched her warily, still confused about the situation. She didn’t remember the last time she felt so uncomfortably scrutinized.

“I saw you come in with that… _ranger_. I just wanted to warn you,” her kind expression darkened immediately, the word ‘ranger’ punctuated pointedly for some reason. What did that mean? Was he _not_ a ranger?

Aeyrin stayed quiet, now feeling more curious than uncomfortable.

“Just be careful, dear, keep him at arm’s length. It will be safer for you,” again there was a strange hint of sadness in her eyes, but her expression remained determined and forewarning.

“Why?” Aeyrin frowned, what did the woman want, to really warn her or to get her away from Bishop? This was strange. And if she really meant to warn her about some danger that Bishop posed, why not say it outright? Why the pretenses and secretiveness?

“Just trust me, it’s for your own good,” the woman smiled again, this time she seemed… sympathetic. She quickly got up and left the baths, leaving Aeyrin back in the tub and none the wiser.

…

Aeyrin came back to the common room even tenser and more confused than she was before.

Not only was that strange runic word still resonating in her head, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about that weird exchange.

Why was that woman so insufferably vague? Why would she think that would garner any trust?

As she approached the bar she witnessed the very woman turn on her heel angrily from Bishop, who looked no happier for seeing her. She left the inn with a loud slam of the doors. Well that confirmed they knew each other, although there was hardly any reason to doubt _that_ before. But what happened between them to make her so angry?

“Who was that?” Aeyrin asked curiously and sat next to Bishop, trying to seem as casual as possible. If there really was something to the woman’s warnings, she didn’t want Bishop to know about them.

“Just… someone I used to know. Don’t worry about it,” he brushed her off and passed a readied tankard towards her.

“An old flame?” she poked his arm teasingly, hoping to learn more without telling him anything about the exchange in the baths.

Bishop only smirked at her, ignoring her ‘inconspicuous’ prodding readily: “Are you jealous, sweetness?”

She rolled her eyes in response. It looked like she wasn’t going to get anything reasonable out of him. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting to find out with her questions. He was hardly the type to start sharing his personal issues just like that.

“Well, you don’t have to be. You’re the one sharing a bed with me tonight,” he grinned at her smugly after a while, a suggestive smile playing on his lips.

“Oh? And how do you figure?” she shook her head with a smile. He was certainly… confident.

“As if you could ever resist me, princess,” he leaned in closer to her again, chuckling at the well-earned blush on her cheeks and whispering in her ear with a low voice: “Also, all the rooms are full, so it’s either that or the floor.”

She pushed him away with a slight laugh, turning her face away from him all the while, hiding her reddened cheeks.

“Then again, at least the floor might cool you off.”


	6. How to Scare a Bard

Aeyrin didn’t get much sleep that night.

Bishop was lying a comfortable distance away on the double bed, but it was still strange to sleep that close to someone. She only shared her quarters with other initiates when she was very young and not long after, she got her own small alcove in the chapel basement.

She was all too aware of every movement he made and she was too self-conscious to toss and turn herself, resulting in her lying rigidly on her back, staring at the ceiling.

She got up before dawn, Bishop still sleeping soundly on his side of the bed.

She went down into the common room, looking around the area. No one else was there besides the Redguard serving girl.

“Up so early?” she asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes. “You want a drink or something to eat?”

Aeyrin ordered some breakfast and a mug of ale, pulling out the pouch of gold she got from Bishop after their bandit raid. She fished around in there for a few pieces of gold when her fingers touched something strange.

She pulled out a long delicate chain, decorated with a few carved wooden beads all around. At the bottom of the chain hung a wood-carved drinking horn with a few golden circles around it. She felt the crackle of magic emanate from it.

“Are you a priestess?” the Redguard woman asked, watching Aeyrin look over the amulet curiously.

“Why do you ask?” she looked up at her curiously – that seemed like a strange turn in the conversation.

“That’s the amulet of Stendarr,” the woman pointed at the necklace with a slight smile. “The horn is a symbol his followers use around here.”

“A cup is a symbol of Stendarr,” Aeyrin corrected her, frowning slightly at the amulet in contemplation. Why would the symbol of a deity be different in another province? Weren’t they all based in the same religion? Was it only the symbols or were there even different tenets or guiding principles? And what would that mean for her pilgrimage?

“Not around here, though I remember that from Hammerfell. You must not be local either.”

Aeyrin just nodded, deep in thought, Bishop must have put the amulet in her pouch. Why didn’t he sell it? He really didn’t seem like he cared about her believes. She put the chain around her neck and promptly paid for her meal. It felt familiar and warm, even though the symbol wasn’t what she would expect. She wondered if the amulet would feel the same, had the woman not told her what it was.

She thought of the events of last night.

She knew how unpleasant Bishop could get when he was on edge, but other than that, she enjoyed his company. She couldn’t think of anything which would warrant the vague warnings she got from that woman.

She certainly put more trust in him than a stranger, but still – she couldn’t stop thinking about that warning.

“You know the people around here, right?” Aeyrin turned to the Redguard polishing the tankards behind the bar in her morning daze.

“Of course,” she gave her a curt nod, followed by a pitiful yawn. It was likely that the inn was lively until the morning hours and the poor woman was back up on her feet again.

Aeyrin described the woman she had the strange encounter last night to the server as best she could, hoping she would get some clue to what it all meant. She left out the part about where they met and what she told her, still somewhat perturbed by the woman’s unnerving scrutiny and vague speeches.

“That sounds like Ysolda,” the Redguard shrugged noncommittally, “I don’t know much about her, she comes in at times for a meal. Other than that she spends most of her time peddling cross-border goods in the markets, I’ve heard.”

The woman looked around inconspicuously, more out of habit than because she thought she could be overheard in the empty room.

“People say she had a fiancé some time ago, but the poor sod got himself killed by some bandits.” the Redguard shrugged and turned her attention back to the dishes, throwing curious glances at Aeyrin all the while, likely pondering the reason for her questions.

That didn’t tell Aeyrin much. The idea that Bishop had something to do with her fiancé’s death crossed her mind for a minute but she chased the thought away. He did nothing to warrant such harsh judgments from her and she shouldn’t make such assumptions based on so little information.

It took another hour of her sitting in the common room alone, contemplating before Bishop came down to join her.

To his own surprise, he involuntarily smiled to himself when he noticed the amulet hanging around her neck. Why would she even like it? Acting like she owed some God something by presenting herself as their worshipper.

He shook his head, none of the gods ever did anything for anyone and people were bending over backwards to swear their allegiance to them. He couldn’t imagine growing up in some stuffy temple. It sounded boring and patronizing at the same time. She seemed even wistful when she talked about her childhood there, but it’s obvious that she needed to get away eventually. He wondered why she clung to the symbols and doctrines when she could just as easily live for herself, without ascribing some spiritual purpose to it.

Then again, what did he care? He admonished himself mentally for pondering about trivial issues that didn’t really even interest him and sat beside her to get some food.

…

They made their way back to Dragonsreach to return the strange stone.

Aeyrin’s attention was caught by a group of warriors in black armor sparring around the building by the stone steps leading up the hill. They seemed to be in high spirits, hooting at each other and cheering on one warrior or another in their sparring match.

“They’re called Companions,” Bishop explained.

“Not whores, as the name would suggest,” he smirked wryly, pondering for a while before continuing. “Well… kind of whores I guess,” he laughed as he went on, “they do stuff for money. Killing bandits, getting rid of vermin, shit like that.”

Karnwyr was particularly on edge around the warriors, staring at them menacingly and growling as they walked by. It seemed like a strange behavior for him – the wolf was normally surprisingly docile in civilization. He appeared to understand that attacking passersby would only get him hunted down by the guards.

They entered the high-set building and made their way straight to the wizard’s room.

The Jarl nodded at Aeyrin in greeting as they passed his throne and then they noticed a suspiciously cloaked woman discussing something vehemently with the wizard.

“Ah! There she is!” the wizard exclaimed when he spotted Aeyrin. “Did you get the stone?”

Aeyrin nodded and retrieved the strange stone tablet from her pack.

“Astounding!” the wizard gasped, running his hand over the carved runes on the stone. “Your information was correct after all,” he turned to the cloaked woman. “And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us.”

“I can see that,” the woman nodded with a slight smile splayed across her face.

“Good work. Send me a copy when you decipher it,” her face still covered, she gathered a stock of parchments from the wizard’s desk, leaving without another word.

…

The wizard paid for the recovered stone handsomely and Aeyrin and Bishop left Dragonsreach heading towards the markets.

“You should really get some new armor, ladyship.” Bishop shook his head at her, looking over her shoulder blades, covered only in the baggy tunic and her practical ponytail. “Or, you know, a shittier one. So I get to see even more than your back,” he laughed.

“Are you gonna assist me at the forge while I make it?” she winked at him, correctly anticipating his annoyed groan.

“Can’t you just buy one?”

“I came here to better my smithing skills too, you know,” she smiled wryly.

Bishop raised an eyebrow at her with a mean smirk: “You’re saying _this_ was not the first thing you ever made?”

Aeyrin flushed with embarrassment. Smithing didn’t come easy for her – she was terrible with remembering numbers and lots of her measurements got messed up. She also wasn’t good at flashing out details on her works so most of them were little more than a glorified chunk of metal. Her best work was a steel cuirass complemented by chainmail flanks and sleeves. The armor got taken by the Imperial soldiers who arrested her during the ambush and she was probably never going to see it again. But she was determined not to give up on it. Bettering oneself was its own reward.

Things were a little more expensive than she anticipated in Skyrim.

They spent a few hours browsing the markets and buying some much needed supplies when Aeyrin found that she barely had money left for a room and a meal. Well _that_ and the beautifully decorated lute she spotted in one of the stalls.

She spent most of the money on finally having her upper back healed in the temple. There, she learned of the struggle Kynareth’s followers were facing – the enormous tree decorating Whiterun’s skyline was dying and in need of a helping hand. Aeyrin offered her help eagerly and was directed to find a sacred blade which would help the task. She had no idea what a hagraven was, but apparently it stole the blade from the priests.

…

Bishop and Aeyrin met up after dusk at The Bannered Mare.

He was already drinking at a more or less hidden table in the corner when she entered, looking pointedly at the old armor as she approached.

“I didn’t have any money left,” she shrugged with a bashful smile.

“But you bought a lute?” he raised his eyebrow at her with a slight frown.

“It’s for you!” she beamed excitedly, giving him a cheeky grin.

“What the fuck would I do with a damn lute, princess?” he snorted derisively. If she was expecting him to play it, she was in for a disappointment.

“Not _for_ you. But you’re the one who wanted to see how I honor Dibella,” she winked at him and blushed slightly, remembering his previous insinuations.

“Seriously?” he laughed “That is so much more disappointing than what I was imagining.”

“I don’t think I want to know what you were imagining…” she scoffed.

“Really? ‘Cause I’d tell you, princess. Though, I’m pretty sure that those cheeks of yours would set the room on fire if I did,” his voice got all deep again and he moved his face a bit closer to her.

Aeyrin pressed the backs of hands against her cheeks. “Gods, stop doing that already,” she groaned earning another hearty laugh from him.

“Do you play?” the Redguard serving girl asked as she brought Aeyrin her drink.

“Oh, a little…” she smiled, her eyes darting towards the blond Nord bard strumming at his lute in the middle of the common room.

“That’s Mikael. He plays here every night, mostly hoping it will impress some girl or other,” the server shook her head. “If you’re willing, I think a lot of people wouldn’t mind some change in tune. Hulda would pay you a few coins, of course.”

Aeyrin nodded eagerly, downing her drink quickly to avoid a hoarse throat as Bishop rolled his eyes beside her.

The Redguard walked over to the counter to talk to the innkeeper and then marched to the bard, stopping him right before he started to strum another tune.

Aeyrin grabbed the lute and walked to the center of the room. She played in many taverns all over Cyrodiil, working hard to hone her musical skills. She remembered one of the initiates in the chapel first teaching her how to play the lute; they spent many nights together in the undercroft filling it with song and laughter.

She stood before the anticipating crowd, placing a leg on one of the benches and securing her lute onto it. She started playing an old chanty she learned long ago in the Anvil harbor, adding her voice to the music as the patrons gathered around her.

Bishop watched the whole time as she played and sang.

He didn’t like bards – they were always so pompous, scoffing at anyone they didn’t find ‘cultured’ enough. He never really liked the noise in the taverns either, he preferred to be left to his drinking in peace. Not to mention that they often wouldn’t even shut their yaps when he was trying to get some sleep.

He smirked as he remembered one particularly annoying bard that thought it would win the crowd over if he made fun of Bishop. Their exchange ended with the whole tavern brawling each other; the bard personally earned several well-aimed hits to his face. He wondered if he was ever able to sing again with so many teeth missing.

He watched the light of the fireplace reflect in her black eyes and playing at her golden hair. Damn, she looked pretty. And she didn’t really sound half bad either. The music turned out to be actually pleasant when it wasn’t produced by someone he utterly despised. He noticed her eyes resting on him as she sang, a small smile playing at her lips. He couldn’t help but smile back - this girl was having a strange effect on him, things he normally hated somehow did not seem so bad when she did them. It was probably because he wanted to sleep with her. Definitely. Once he got her to his bed, he was sure the novelty would wear right off. It was the thrill of the hunt – completely natural. He hadn’t had to actually work for it for a long time.

The audience clapped excitedly as she put her lute down with a bashful bow.

She looked over to Bishop. He didn’t clap, of course, or acknowledge her performance in any way, but he was looking at her intently. In fact, every time she looked to him during her performance his eyes were fixed on her.

She skipped over to the bar to pick up her payment and a mug of ale.

When she turned away to return to her table, she startled as the blond Nord bard appeared right in front of her.

“That was a truly inspired performance, my dear lady,” he flashed her a charming smile, accompanied by a lighthearted wink.

“Thank you,” she replied politely and attempted to continue on her way back to the table – she didn’t really like what the server said about him. Dibella’s gifts were to spread joy with art and beauty, not a cheap trick to get someone into bed.

The bard stepped in her way again before she could leave: “I am so very pleased to meet someone else gifted in the art around these parts. And so utterly striking too…” he grabbed her hand suddenly, placing a kiss at the back of it before she could react.

Aeyrin snatched her hand from his grasp with a frown, only nodding in acknowledgement. This time she was more adamant in getting past the man. “Excuse me,” she threw him a meaningful look and ducked under his arm, outstretched towards the corner of the room, blocking her passage.

She strode back towards Bishop without looking back a sat down beside him with a relieved sigh.

“You attract annoying trouble,” he grumbled, nodding his head towards the other part of their table, where, much to Aeyrin’s dismay, the bard was already making himself comfortable.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe I told you my name, my dear. I am Mikael,” he smiled at her again, not even acknowledging Bishop’s presence at the table. He turned his head towards the common room and snapped his fingers at the Redguard woman. “I was thinking you could join me for a drink and then perhaps we could perform something together.”

“I already have a drink…” Aeyrin mumbled while Bishop merely watching the bard with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Don’t you worry about it, dear; you don’t have to drink that swill. I have plenty coin to get us something nicer.”

The Redguard woman made her way towards their table in the meantime, an annoyed expression on her face.

“Saadia, dear, get us something that wasn’t stored somewhere among rat droppings,” he wrinkled his nose at her condescendingly, a haughty smile on his lips a second later. “For me and the lovely lady,” he flashed Aeyrin another one of his smiles which seemed to increase on smugness each time.

“I’m good, thanks,” Aeyrin stopped the server before she could leave, earning a pleased smirk from her.

“Mikael, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d rather just talk to my friend. Alone,” Aeyrin inclined her head towards Bishop, hoping the bard would finally get the hint and leave their table. His attitude was enervating and his relentlessness and the inability to get a clue only made her dislike him even more. 

“My dear, we really shouldn’t squander this opportunity at a joint performance. If you are tired of the crowd, we could even go somewhere private…”

“Can you whistle?” Bishop interrupted him with a strangely disturbing smile on his face.

Mikael acknowledged his existence for the first time, turning his head to him with an uncertain scowl: “I… can…”

“Whistle!” Bishop commanded, earning a confused look from both Aeyrin and Mikael.

The bard apparently wasn’t sure how to react at this. At first he scoffed, shaking his head, then started mumbling something incoherent. After a little while the bard produced a short high-pitched whistle giving Bishop an unsure look, as if waiting for his approval. He was strangely compliant. It was likely due to Bishop’s somewhat threatening look. The minstrel was annoying, sure, but Bishop’s attitude seemed to be a bit exaggerated to Aeyrin.

“That was shit,” Bishop gave him a level look “You know what’ll make you whistle real good?”

The bard looked utterly confused, stuttering with a frazzled glint in his eyes: “Well… I-I… what?”

Bishop leaned over the table a bit, the disturbing smile returning to his face: “A few missing teeth.”

“Bishop!” Aeyrin admonished him, while the bard’s face twisted with fright.

“This… this is unacceptable.” Mikael stuttered, throwing his arms in the air frantically. He looked on a verge of running away, but sat still – his face twisted in forced determination, laced with palpable trepidation.

“Leave, bard,” Bishop scowled at him menacingly to drive the point across.

Mikael shot one last hesitant look at Aeyrin and quickly got up from the table and disappeared towards the bedrooms.

Bishop smirked smugly, while Aeyrin shook his head at him.

“You didn’t need to threaten him, you know. There are other ways to deal with people.”

“Your way wasn’t doing you much good, ladyship,” he scoffed derisively, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m sure he would have left eventually, there was no need to escalate things.”

Bishop scowled. How naïve was she? People didn’t listen just because she asked nicely.

Before he managed to produce a retort, a young Imperial woman approached them with a nervous look in her eyes.

“I saw Mikael rushing away from you. What did you say to him?” she looked up at them, something strange playing in her eyes, her tone even a bit… hopeful?

Aeyrin sighed, giving Bishop a disapproving look: “Don’t worry he’s fine. He just…”

“I don’t care how he is,” the woman interrupted her curtly, folding her arms across her chest stubbornly. “That ice-brain won’t leave me alone. I want to know what you said to make him leave _you_ alone.”

Aeyrin looked at her in surprise. She thought she was concerned for the bard, yet it seemed this night’s behavior wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. Her heart went out to her but she wasn’t exactly excited to tell her she should threaten him with violence.

Bishop’s face got even smugger, if it was possible. He threw Aeyrin an annoyingly pleased look and announced to the woman: “I told him he’d do better with some teeth knocked out of him.”

The woman seemed to consider what he said for a bit, then sat down beside them at the table.

“I tried something like that, but of course he didn’t take me seriously,” she sighed, her frustration palpable. “Do you think you could tell him to leave me alone too? He’s obviously more scared of you than he would ever be of me.” she smiled hopefully at Bishop.

“Is it really necessary to threaten him again? I mean he is harmless…” Aeyrin tried to intervene with a deep sigh. He wasn’t threatening to hurt anyone and doing so just because someone was annoying seemed like overkill. Besides, violence should never be a first resort unless someone’s life was in danger. There were always other ways to deal with people.

“He is not harmless!” the woman cried out with a hint of desperation in her voice.

“He bothers me at the market stall all through the day, and most evenings I don’t even dare come here for a meal so that I don’t have him trying to drag me off with him somewhere. A few days ago he even talked to my daughter and tried to convince her to ‘put in a good word’ for him. I don’t want him anywhere near me again!” the woman looked on the brink of tears.

Aeyrin didn’t talk again. She really didn’t like resorting to violence or even a threat of it outside an inevitable danger. The man wasn’t a bandit, he wasn’t a killer, but the woman’s desperation made her reconsider a bit. Bishop wouldn’t really hurt him after all, would he? And if it really got her out of this kind of situation…

Bishop didn’t really do favors, but that bard was pissing him off more and more. He pissed him off with that annoying squawking he called singing, he pissed him off when he wouldn’t leave Aeyrin alone and pretended like Bishop didn’t even exist and seeing that woman almost break out in tears there didn’t really help things.

Besides, that idiot was so easily terrified, it was really fun to mess with him.

“Whatever,” he shrugged at the woman noncommittally, trying not to look too eager to go and make the minstrel piss his pants again.

“Thank you!” it almost looked like she was going to hug him. “My name is Carlotta. Just make him leave me and my daughter alone, please.”

Carlotta left the table, paying for another round for both Bishop and Aeyrin.

Bishop had half a mind to tell Aeyrin how naïve she was being, how Carlotta made it obvious that you can’t just treat people nicely and everything will work out fine.

He turned to her as she stared sadly into her mug, circling the liquid around.

For some reason, that sight made him decide against it. She looked rather defeated. Just her naivety shattering around her. Whatever, she got the point already, it was obvious.

He went over to Saadia to ask where the bard was hiding out and left to deal with him without a word.


	7. Here Be Dragons

They met up early in the morning in the common room.

Bishop didn’t talk anymore about the bard or what he said or did to him. Aeyrin wasn’t sure if it was because he was trying to prevent another fight, spare her feelings or whether something went wrong.

She decided not to question him. She probably really didn’t want to know what had transpired.

They had a quick and mostly quiet breakfast and headed out of the city with a plan to hunt down the thieving hagraven – whatever _that_ was…

…

As they have left the gates and headed towards the farmsteads surrounding Whiterun, intent on finding the sacred blade for the Kynareth priest, a ground-shaking crash sounded through the air.

In the distance, behind a farmhouse, a giant crouched, lifting a huge club above its head.

Karnwyr started growling furiously. Bishop wondered why – his companion knew that as long as they stayed away, the giant was harmless.

That’s when they noticed a couple of warriors in black armor running around the beast, hacking and shooting at it all the while.

Karnwyr was always on edge around the Companions and Bishop had no idea why – every time they were anywhere near them, Karnwyr started growling and barking like mad. Bishop worried that one day he would attack one, which would likely not end well.

He knelt by Karnwyr, trying to calm him down.

When he turned to Aeyrin, wanting to say something, he startled to see she wasn’t where he left her. He looked around and saw her running towards the giant, her hand ready on her mace already. Of course she ran over to help…

Aeyrin ran through the fields towards the giant. She charged forward, not wanting to lose her momentum and unclasped her mace.

The warriors in the black barely managed to notice her when she slid across the mud under the giant’s feet, slamming her mace into its leg with a loud crack.

The giant roared, kneeling on his wounded leg.

“It’s down, quick!” a dark-haired Nord with eyes covered with war-paint called out as the two remaining fighters focused on the creature, the Dunmer swinging his greatsword over its shoulder and the Nord woman aiming her bow at its head.

When Bishop made his way towards them, the giant was already face-first in the mud, moaning in its last moments alive.

He stayed further back, holding the growling wolf at bay. The beast was dead, it was all too clear that he was perturbed only by the Companions. There was something wrong with them. He was sure of it.

“Thanks, pup,” the dark-haired Nord grinned at Aeyrin.

“That wasn’t half-bad,” the woman nodded, brushing her waist-long braided red hair from her face, “You’d make a decent Shield-sister.”

“Shield-sister?” Aeyrin asked, cleaning the mud off her cheeks and hair.

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough,” the woman answered proudly.

“Come by the Jorrvaskr sometime, if you’re interested to join us. It’s by the steps to Dragonsreach, you can’t miss it,” she added as the warriors set out back in the direction of Whiterun, the dark-haired Nord narrowing his eyes at Karnwyr growling some distance away.

“You know, I wouldn’t trust them. Karnwyr’s got a nose for people,” Bishop said as Aeyrin walked back towards him, still trying to clean the mud off of her.

“They seemed nice enough. And they help people, like the Fighters Guild.”

“Yeah everyone seems all nice at first. I’m telling you there’s something wrong with them,” Bishop scowled worriedly as he finally let his hands fall from clutching Karnwyr at the fur. The wolf was calming down at last with the Companions out of reach.

“So I should just expect everyone I meet to betray me or something? That’s your philosophy?” she scoffed at him. It seemed like a sad way to live. And with that attitude, it was hardly surprising that he seemed to despise everyone they met.

“Never trust anyone, ladyship. They all make nice when they need something, then everyone just cares about themselves.”

Aeyrin thought of her time in Skyrim – how the soldiers smiled at her and invited her to their camp only to subdue her and discuss how to kill her a minute later. How the Imperials didn’t care for anything she had to say and threw her onto the prison cart with the men who attacked her. How one of the Stormcloaks offered to take her to safety through the Helgen dungeon, only to throw her to the Imperials when they showed up. She would have been killed if Hadvar didn’t stop them, and even he almost attacked her when she mentioned her interest in Talos.

She knew however that war made cruel enemies of people and she refused to believe that this was the reality of life. Living by that philosophy would make for one lonely life.

“Even you?” she shook her head at him.

Bishop looked at her for a while, apparently not knowing how to answer, then a familiar smirk appeared on his face “When have I ever seemed nice, princess?”

…

They made camp south of Riverwood, near Helgen, by a small pond.

The ruins of the town were still visible in the distance – the battlements were for the most part only half as tall as before, all the straw roofs were gone and the wooden support beams of the structures were black and white from the fires.

“Fuck, that’s bleak,” Bishop sat beside her as she unfastened her muddy armor. “How’d you get out of there?”

Aeyrin looked at the ruins with a faraway stare. How _did_ she get out? It all happened so fast.

For the longest time her hands were still bound. She didn’t even think of the Stormcloaks’ earlier betrayal before following that soldier into the keep – a mistake in hindsight.

“I don’t even know. I just ran, then some soldier untied me and led me to the dungeon. There was an escape route and I managed to get out with a… different soldier. He led me to Riverwood.”

“Untied you? What were you tied to?” Bishop frowned a bit, an expression of curiosity etched on his face.

“Oh…” Aeyrin didn’t even notice she said that. She wasn’t worried about Bishop having an allegiance in the war anymore, but she really didn’t feel like listening to his snide comments about how naïve she was.

“I was… arrested by the Imperials before the attack.”

Bishop laughed: “Arrested? You? Don’t your Gods frown on that or something?”

“I didn’t do anything. I met a few soldiers on the road. It was dark and they invited me to their camp for some food… I had my lute and they said they’d like me to play something for them to pass the time. I didn’t know who they were. Apparently one of them was that… Ulric person. The Imperials ambushed the camp and didn’t believe me that I wasn’t with them,” she explained, bracing herself for the lecture about blind trust.

“Ulric person? You mean Ulfric Stormcloak?” he raised his eyebrows. “And they just… invited you into their camp, for what? A fun evening with a song?” he snorted “They did see the ears, right?”

She gave him a miserable look and only shrugged.

“Why would you even believe them, princess? They hate any foreigners, elves especially.”

“I didn’t know,” she shook her head, the whole incident still left a bitter taste in her mouth. She heard vague whispers of rebellions and civil war in Skyrim while she was still south of its borders but she never really got any specific information. She had no idea who the Stormcloaks were until she was practically thrown in the middle of their war with the Legion.

“Didn’t they do anything to you? I doubt they actually wanted to help you out.”

Aeyrin was still looking at the ruins and only nodded slowly: “They disarmed me, then started arguing whether I was a Thalmor spy and what they should do with me. Then the Imperials attacked.”

“They didn’t think it weird to find an elf there? Not wearing the armor?” he scowled. He would have figured the Imperials would help her out. Then again, why would they? It was much easier to kill her along with the rebels.

“They said it was a Stormcloak ploy... that I was a spy,” she sighed. Whatever was it that screamed ‘spy’ about her to any soldier she met? Even Hadvar was suspicious when she asked him about Talos. Maybe it wasn’t so strange that Bishop didn’t trust anyone. Maybe it was cultural. Or maybe nobody ever trusted anyone and she was just happy ignoring this fact in her little bubble within the temple’s walls. Was that one of the lessons that Master Therien hoped she would learn out in the world? If so, she wasn’t certain whether she should be grateful for that. It was a disheartening feeling and living in constant fear and suspicion seemed like a horrible prospect to her.

Bishop shook his head after a while. She expected his lecture about her naivety to continue, but instead he only sighed: “You have the worst fucking luck, sweetheart.”

After a few moments of silence, Aeyrin pulled out a small silver mirror from her pack and looked herself over.

She thought she got all the mud out, but when she saw herself, she noticed a lot of dried up chunks of blood and dirt in her hair and at the side of her face.

She looked towards the small pond beside their camp – the water looked clean enough. “Would you mind?” she asked Bishop and nodded towards the pond. “I’d like to clean this up.”

“Sure, I’ll help,” Bishop grinned at her insolently.

“Not what I meant!” she chuckled in response, punching his shoulder playfully. She should have expected something like that.

“Hey I’m just being helpful here!” he laughed “Isn’t that your philosophy?” he chuckled again, taking one of the dirty strands of her hair between his fingers, leaning his face closer to her.

Ayerin reddened at his proximity again, gently pushing him away: “I… think I can manage myself.”

He let go of her hair and moved away a bit, his eyes still locked on her “Suit yourself, princess. I should still watch your back though, you never know around these parts,” he smirked.

“You don’t give up, do you?” she laughed, her face bright red. “Why don’t you go catch us some dinner?”

Bishop grumbled but still maintained his smile. He called Karnwyr over and they both left the camp.

…

The fight didn’t go as smoothly as their previous ones.

Bishop informed Aeyrin what to expect from a hagraven, but she still got caught off guard at how powerful its magic was, not to mention the rune traps splattered all around its lair.

The monster managed to stop Aeyrin’s charge with a frost spell for a while and noticed Bishop’s hidden vantage point. He earned a nasty burn before Aeyrin got back on her feet and managed to get to the hagraven.

The magic was so potent, even Aeyrin’s spell couldn’t heal Bishop’s burned flank all the way – his leather armor now showed a seared hole in it and they needed to get if fixed as soon as possible.

They _did_ manage to kill the hagraven and retrieve the dagger in the end though.

“Don’t pick at it, it will get worse,” Aeyrin scolded Bishop as he fiddled with the seared armor around his burn.

They were heading back to Whiterun already, though Aeyrin was itching to finally see other parts of Skyrim than the same Riverwood road.

“Don’t lecture me, ladyship. I’ve taken care of plenty of wounds without your magic. It’s your fault it happened anyways,” he grumbled with annoyance.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t move when it froze me…“ she flushed slightly, admonishing herself in her head for apologizing – battle was unpredictable, he should know that.

“That’s not why. I meant because you graciously volunteered to attack a hagraven in the first place,” he shook his head at her with a smirk.

This again! Aeyrin wanted to retort something, but then she noticed his face was fixed on something in the distance.

She followed his eyes towards a watchtower, some distance away from them – there was a lot of smoke coming from the area, more than even several large campfires would cause.

“There’s a fire!” Aeyrin gasped “We need to help!” before he managed to react, again she was running towards the scene, not looking back even for a second.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he swore, chasing after her. He should just leave her to burn there… throwing them in danger constantly for no reason. It was a fucking _watchtower_! Nothing was there that would need to be saved.

They reached the vicinity of the tower in a little while, Bishop clasping his burning flank in pain.

The fire was everywhere, smoke filling the air around them quickly – the shrubbery all around was aflame and a single guard, practically burned to a crisp lay on the ground, wheezing and choking.

“End it…” he struggled to speak “end it… and… run,” he breathed out with difficulty.

There was no hope for him, his life was hanging on by a thread. Aeyrin quickly pulled out a knife from her pack and slit the guard’s throat as quickly as possible, putting the poor man out of his misery. There was no point in prolonging torment, better to send his soul to Arkay to rest in peace.

A moment later they overheard the stomping of armored feet on the road behind them.

“I remember you,” the Dunmer woman nodded at Aeyrin – she was the jarl’s general with seven of her men in tow.

“Yes. Irileth, right?” Aeyrin asked, waving her hand before her face to clear the smoke out a little.

“When did you get here? Did you see the…” Irileth was suddenly interrupted by a loud roar in the woods near the plains. All the present soldiers jerked their heads towards the trees with frightened eyes.

Aeyrin remembered that sound well, her blood turning cold at the memory.

There was a rumble, a crackling of trees than a strong gust of wind as the beast sprung towards the sky, its eyes trained on the watchtower and its new occupants.

“Stand to, men!” Irileth yelled out as the guards pulled out their weapons and started to scatter around, not to make themselves an easy target for the dragon.

Aeyrin’s eyes sought Bishop in panic; he straightened his back, ignoring the strained wound and gave her an assuring nod. What the fuck did she get them into? It didn’t matter – there was no turning back now. He pulled out his bow, preparing for a foe he never in his life thought to encounter.

Aeyrin ran around the tower to get away from the smoke as Bishop set out to circle the structure from the other side, bow at the ready.

Another roar sounded through the area as the dragon approached, circling above them in the air. Its brownish scales glittered with golden glint in the setting sun as the beast let out another loud roar, setting its eyes on one of the guards down below.

The dragon charged head-first onto the ground, moving at great speed. As it was reaching the ground, right above the terrified guard, it opened its maw and a searing pillar of fire erupted from it, leaving a long trail below it as it soared back into the sky.

A terrifying scream echoed across the plains, the guard thrashing and fidgeting, his whole body engulfed in flames.

The screams got more and more piercing, but soon enough got drowned out in another roar. From the tower entrance an arrow whistled through the air, hitting the dragon in its outstretched neck, lodging itself between the brown scales.

The dragon turned its head towards the tower in anger as Bishop retreated behind the stone wall of the entryway.

The dragon let out another stream of flames, aiming at the entrance. Bishop stood still, sweat dripping from his forehead as the flames danced next to him, too close for comfort. An old table and a dusty rug on the inside of the structure both burned to ashes in a matter of minutes and his leather tightened around him in the unbearable heat, the wound on his flank scorching him, making him feel as if his insides were boiling.

The dragon descended, intent on making sure that the attacker was dealt with.

Neither Irileth nor Aeyrin hesitated at the opportunity as they both charged towards the beast, Irileth brandishing her elegant lithe swords and Aeyrin raising her cheap iron mace, suddenly feeling very inadequately equipped.

The dragon paid them no mind as it landed on the wide stone platform by the tower doorway, nudging the front of its maw into the entrance.

Bishop stepped back a bit as a part of the dragon’s maw was protruding from the doorway, huffing in furiously. He was sure the dragon couldn’t see him, the entryway was too small, but it was likely it could smell him even through the smoke and ash.

He drew his bow and aimed inside its nostril determinedly, resolute to give the beast a fight of its life.

In the meantime Irileth let out a foreign-sounding battle-cry and clawed herself up onto the wide platform, swiftly jumping onto the dragon’s neck with its head preoccupied by the tower entrance. She thrusted her swords deep inside the beast elegantly, arching her back on the creature, making the swords slash through its thick scales and flesh from the inside.

Aeyrin approached the platform from the stairs at the base – behind the large beast. She ran along its side and mustered all her strength, smashing her mace into the bone of the creature’s wing while Bishop let his arrow fly into its intended target.

The roar the dragon let out at the multi-pronged assault threatened to deafen them all.

It swiftly pulled out its head from the entryway, shaking its neck furiously, sending Irileth flying down onto the burned plain.

Aeyrin ran quickly away from the beast as it turned its attention to her. The dragon tried to move its wings but instead let out another pained cry at the attempt, after Aeyrin’s treatment of its bones.

It started to crawl rapidly towards her, as she readied herself, buckler in hand, mace in the other.

Bishop left his hiding alcove, shooting another arrow into the creature’s back while three guards gathered their courage to join the attack, climbing onto the low platform, hacking at the creature from all sides.

The dragon snapped its jaw at Aeyrin, missing her only by a hair. She didn’t hesitate and crushed her mace into its closing jaw, another crack signaling a lasting damage.

One of the guards appeared up on the roof of the tower, shooting her bow at the dragon’s head as the other soldiers attempted to penetrate its scales with their weapons.

Irileth was limping badly, her leg likely broken, she watched the scene from further back, seeing the beast panic and roar, as it didn’t know where to turn.

It opened its maw one more time, facing Aeyrin.

There was a bright flame forming at the back of its throat behind the blood dripping around its sharp fangs.

Then… two more arrows hit the creature’s back and head, breaking its concentration.

Instead of flames, another pained roar came out of its throat and as one of the burlier guards swung his warhammer in the dragon’s side, the beast wavered, falling from the wide stone platform leading towards the tower entrance, crushing one of the guards on the way.

Another one of the guards jumped on the fallen creature, thrusting his sword into its scaly repeatedly, but the monster was already dead.


	8. Dragonborn

It felt like a long while before anyone realized that it was over.

The guards stared at the dead beast as Irileth limped towards them.

Bishop and Aeyrin both ran over to each other without thinking, stopping only a short distance away, both looking over the other to see whether they were alright.

Bishop gave Aeyrin a satisfied smirk between the heavy breaths, wiping the sweat from his brow. Hid wound was burning like crazy and the heat made his leather too tight to allow him to breather regularly.

“Told you… sweetness… worst… fucking… luck.”

She gave him a weary smile, when a strange sight caught their attention.

The dragon’s entire body started to glow with otherworldly light, slowly igniting into searing flames.

The guards stepped back from the beast, watching it wearily.

“Careful!” Irileth cried out, the struggle to speak palpable in her voice “It may explode!”

They all watched the flaming corpse nervously but none of them moved a muscle.

The flames started to die down, showing the distinct lack of scales and flash on the beast. The fire retreated steadily, shrinking towards the dragon’s heart, uncovering more and more of the creature’s skeleton with each second.

The fire turned back into the strange light when it reached the heart, shimmering with white and gold hues as it lingered for a while, mesmerizing all the onlookers.

Suddenly, with great speed the light split into numerous smaller strings, all of them shooting out rapidly towards Aeyrin.

No one even had the time to react as the lights circled her whole body swiftly and seeped into her skin in a matter of a single second.

Everything went dark, or perhaps too light to see anything.

She felt burning on every inch of her skin and let out a high-pitched shriek of pain.

Every second stretched into eternity as she felt the searing light make its way under her skin. She could feel it enter her veins and spreading into each one of them, setting them aflame. She felt every course of her blood as it was boiling, bubbling as a strange image of magma coursing through her blood vessels appeared in the back of her mind, making her absolutely sure it was happening to her for real. It seemed like her veins were shrinking and twisting from the heat – just like metal poured into a forge. She was sure that her heart and lungs were filling with the burning liquid as it was making its way through her throat, nose, ears and eyes, yet never actually leaving her body.

All she could think about was the pain, the pain and a strange… need. Need to win over the fire, to absorb it, to dominate it.

Her whole body trembled uncontrollably as the flames kept on burning, she had no idea for how long.

No! The dragon was dead! They won! She was not going to let it kill her now!

The pain seemed to lessen. The flames seemed calmer, tamed. It felt like it took forever, heat covering her body. She felt sweat pooling everywhere but she was sure it evaporated instantly.

Finally it seemed to be over.

Her body was still trembling but she started to feel what was happening outside – there was sweat running all over her face and temples, her tunic on her uncovered shoulder blades was wet and the blowing wind made it feel freezing on her back.

There was so much smoke in the air it was all she could smell.

She was on her knees, curled into a ball and there was a warm body pressed against her, strong arms enveloping her, holding her to his chest.

She opened her eyes, blinking away the sweat and tears.

She saw all the surviving guards standing in a circle around her, Irileth kneeling among them, looking both weary and shocked, her hand clutching Aeyrin’s shoulder either to steady her or herself.

Bishop was kneeling beside her curled body, his embrace loosened as he noticed her eyes open, his face full of confusion and uncertainty.

“You alright?” he asked quietly. Her body was still trembling but he let go of her, so that she could straighten and compose herself.

“What… what happened?” she asked, her voice uncontrollably shaky.

“You shrieked, fell to your knees and started shaking,” Bishop explained calmly, his eyes still scanning her warily.

“It burned,” Aeyrin whispered, still shaken up. She couldn’t muster the strength to explain further – even the memory of those sensations was painful.

“It must be… some last defense. Some foul… magic,” Irileth talked slowly, as if she were in a lot of pain, her hand fell from Aeyrin’s shoulder unceremoniously as the she stood up on shaky feet.

“That’s not what if was, captain. The girl absorbed the beast’s soul!” a Nord guard exclaimed with awe in his voice, giving Aeyrin a strangely reverent once over.

Another Nord guard spit at the previous one’s feet almost immediately with anger in his eyes: “What in Oblivion do you think you’re saying, Isgard? She’s a fucking knife-ear! That’s a sacred legend you’re badmouthing!”

“What?!” Irileth barked at him, her weary voice managed to communicate a lot of anger.

“No… no offence, captain, ma’am. It’s just… it’s a Nord legend. You can’t have… outsiders be a Nord legend,” the guard shuffled his feet, apparently terrified of the Dunmer even in her wounded state.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Bishop scowled at them, still throwing Aeyrin concerned looks every once in a while. Although, now she wasn’t sure if he was concerned for a comrade or… wary of her.

“What kind of Nord are you?” a Nord woman scoffed at him “The Dragonborn, of course.”

“So what? She’s an empress?” a Redguard man scoffed at the woman.

“It wasn’t just the Septims, you daft tit. It’s people with blood and soul of a dragon,” the woman replied.

“They are blessed by Akatosh!” the first Nord still seemed awed by what he just witnessed looking over Aeyrin constantly with his mouth slightly ajar.

“The Thu’um belongs to the Nords. The true Dragonborn can only be a Nord!” the other Nord man got steadily angrier, staring at Aeyrin with hatred in his eyes.

“Didn’t we just say that the Imperials were Dragonborn too?” the Redguard shook his head, looking slightly amused at the Nord’s outburst.

“Pretenders! All of them! They never proved it! Just used the title for their politic bullshit! The true Dragonborn Shout their enemies into pieces and wage righteous battle, not cower in palaces!”

“Prove it then,” a Breton guard nodded at Aeyrin “Shout this dimwit to pieces!” he laughed, pointing towards the angry Nord.

Aeyrin stood up shakily, her head spinning. Bishop steadied her for a while, and then stepped away, suspiciously quiet during the whole exchange.

“You… you want me to… shout?” Aeyrin looked at them in confusion. She still didn’t understand any of it. She heard of the Dragonborn emperors of old but she never bothered to find out what it actually meant. Her religious texts also never really spoke of a blessing of Akatosh which would give people dragon blood and soul. It all seemed fishy. The word ‘Dragonborn’ was ever only associated with the Septim bloodline to her knowledge. She never really paid any attention to what it meant. She always just assumed that’s what they were called because of their reverence for Akatosh.

“Shout what?” she shook her head, not knowing what shouting would accomplish at that point.

“Not shout. Shout. Like a dragon!” the mesmerized guard encouraged her with a kind smile, the eagerness to see this unfold palpable in his eyes.

“Just shout… something… so we can…” Irileth gasped in pain, not able to finish the sentence anymore.

Aeyrin shook her head at the guards and bent towards the wounded woman, asking her to show her where it hurt. What would she even shout? She still didn’t get it.

“It’s not just shouting! The Dragonborn know the Thu’um, the language of the dragons! The elf doesn’t know that!”

Aeyrin slipped her hand away from Irileth’s cracked rib as she breathed out in slight relief.

The language of the dragons… was that what it was? She thought of that word, a strange buildup formed in her throat, a strange power begging to be let out. It must have been it, the word from the wall in the barrow.

Aeyrin hopped off the platform, a safe distance away from the guards as they watched her with interest. She had no idea what would happen, but suddenly she knew it would be… powerful. She could feel it.

“FUS!”

The word flew out of her like wildfire, an invisible gust bending and breaking the burned down shrubs in the direction she was facing.

She gasped as she saw the impact, holding her hands over her mouth, startled by what she just let out.

Bishop watched as she stared at the broken branches and flattened ground, thousand thoughts swirling in his head. This was going to be trouble. Too much trouble. He should just leave. This was not worth it. A Dragonborn will likely attract those damned dragons, not to mention other shit. He’d find some other challenge and he never needed anyone besides Karnwyr, even though it may have been kind of fun so far. Besides she hardly needed him… a Dragonborn.

He focused on her again. She was further away but he still saw her shaking, her eyes set on the damage in front of her, he could swear they were glistening. Her hand was over her mouth, the fear on her face so obvious. He scowled – he didn’t like seeing her this terrified. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Unbelievable!” the Nord woman exclaimed.

“Pretty impressive,” the Redguard nodded.

“NO!” the angry Nord screamed, “This is not right; this is a test by Talos! He would want us to kill the false Dragonborn!”

He brandished his warhammer, his face twisted with rage.

Bishop noticed the man’s ready stance right next to him and without giving it much thought slammed his elbow into his face.

The Nord dropped his weapon in shock with a loud clank. He grasped his bleeding nose with both hands and gave Bishop an outraged stare.

“I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!”

“ENOUGH!!!” Irileth shouted.

The guards turned to her, she was standing upright, still clutching her ribs and her weight was obviously only supported by one leg, but she wore a determined stare which made them all lower their heads in obedience.

“A dragon is dead. That is all that matters. We go back to Whiterun. Now! These two helped kill the dragon and are under _my_ protection. None of you will start anything with them! Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” the guards answered in unison, all looking down at their feet.

“I don’t know what all this is…” she spoke more quietly towards Bishop. “I’ll tell the jarl what happened, maybe Farengar will know more. You two should get some rest and come to Dragonsreach, maybe in a few days. We might have more information then.”

Bishop nodded and watched Irileth lead the remaining guards away for a while. After a bit his head turned back towards Aeyrin. She was still standing at the same spot, staring at the broken shrubbery.

She felt a hand on her back, by her pauldron, resting there comfortably.

“Ladyship?”

She turned her face to him, his face was like a stone, she could not discern what he was thinking.

She wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t really decide on what. She had a million questions in her head but at that time, she wasn’t sure she wanted them answered. For now, all this meant nothing.

The Nord’s words still rang in her ears: “ _The true Dragonborn can shout their enemies into pieces and wage righteous battle.”_ Was that what people here would expect from her? To snap people with her voice like she did the branches?

She turned her eyes from Bishop and looked at the ground, shrugging.

“Come, we have somewhere to be,” he outstretched his arm across her shoulders and led her away from the burning tower, north across the wide plains.

…

He led her silently towards a steep hillside.

They were only interrupted in their journey by a familiar bark as Karnwyr caught up with them.

“Did you run away from a fight, you milk-drinker?” Bishop grinned at him.

Karnwyr lowered his head with a whine – he almost sounded guilty.

“Smart boy,” Bishop scratched him behind his ear “Smarter than the two of us at least,” he smirked at Aeyrin, but she didn’t react.

Bishop ushered her atop the hillside where they saw a cabin in a distance, perched atop a cliff.

By the time they reached the cabin darkness was already enveloping the plains.

There was a man sitting on the wooden ledge, looking down on the wide plains splayed across the horizon. Bishop motioned for Aeyrin to wait and approached the man. After a short discussion and some coin being exchanged, the man got up, grabbed a pack from the cabin and left, shooting a knowing smirk at Aeyrin as he passed her.

Bishop entered the cabin and came out in a few seconds with three slabs of meat which he tossed on the already ignited fireplace.

He sat himself on the same ledge as the other man was sitting and Karnwyr strode to him lazily, stretching himself out next to him.

“Come on,” Bishop gestured to his side.

Aeyrin walked over uncertainly and sat beside him on the ledge.

From there one could see the entirety of the plains and more. She could see the lights of Whiterun in the distance, even Riverwood was visible from behind the forest. The countless stars were slowly becoming more and more visible as the sky turned darker each second.

“What is this place?” she finally spoke.

“It’s a hunter’s rest. A good place to clear your head. There’s a bed and supplies inside, hunters come and go, replace anything they take. There’s not really anything of worth to steal so it works, most of the times,” Bishop explained with a slight shrug.

“What did you tell the man who was here before us?”

Bishop smirked “I told him we needed some privacy, of course. And gave him some gold.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” she sighed. As strangely charming as she usually found his relentlessness, she hardly felt in the mood to entertain these games.

“No, sweetness,” he frowned at her. The one time he actually tried to do something nice. Why the fuck did he bother?

“Like I said, a good place to clear your head.”

He turned his head back towards the horizon, then he felt her hair fall around his shoulder as she rested her head against it, closing her eyes with a deep sigh.

“Thank you.”

…

Soon the smell of their dinner filled the air.

They settled around the fire, Bishop threw one of the pieces towards Karnwyr and passed the other one to Aeyrin.

“How’s the wound?” Aeyrin asked, remembering Bishop’s state after the hagraven fight. It was hard to believe that was only half a day ago. So much has happened since.

“It’s fine, unless someone makes me run towards a fire with it,” he smirked.

Aeyrin looked into the fire pit, the memory of the pain still fresh in her mind. She took a deep breath, still battling between the urge to ask about everything that was on her mind or staying in blissful ignorance. Not that there was any bliss in the uncertainty.

“Do you think… do you think I really… absorbed its soul?” she asked carefully. It was likely Bishop didn’t even want to talk about what happened. He probably didn’t even care about any of that.

“I don’t know, princess. It looked like you… absorbed something… couldn’t tell you what.”

They went silent for a while, both staring into the flames.

“You said it burned,” Bishop pointed out. He wasn’t sure if she remembered anything after the light engulfed her – she certainly looked like she wasn’t all there. Her eyes reminded him of the emptiness he saw in them in the barrow.

“It felt like my blood was on fire,” she looked up at him, thinking on what to ask next but he raised his hand to stop her.

“I have no answers for you, ladyship. I never cared for these legends. I bet you know more than me already. It just… it looked like what they said was true… absorbing the soul, using that dragon Shout,” he shrugged.

“They said I was supposed to Shout my enemies to pieces and wage battle,” Aeyrin frowned, turning her gaze back to the flames.

“Who the fuck cares what you’re supposed to do? Do whatever _you_ want. Besides that idiot didn’t know what he was talking about anyways, it was obvious. I hope his nose is broken,” Bishop smirked to himself with a somewhat pleased voice.

“What?” Aeyrin looked at him again, confused. She didn’t really pay attention to anyone’s injuries after the battle much. She only vaguely remembered healing Irileth to ease her troubled breathing.

“When I elbowed him. I hope I broke his nose. I think he was bleeding at least.”

Aeyrin stared at him for a while.

“You didn’t see?” he sounded almost disappointed. “I was kinda proud of that,” he grinned at her cheekily after a while.

“You… elbowed a guard in his face?” Aeyrin raised her eyebrow at him.

“Yup,” he laughed.

She was a little shocked, but then remembered all the things the guard was saying about her. She couldn’t help but smile a little. Bishop was a bad influence on her. She hid her smile behind her hand but couldn’t conceal it from her voice.

“You’re horrible…”

Bishop laughed loudly: “You love it, sweetness.”

…

The hour got late and both of them were starting to yawn pitifully.

Their exhaustion was palpable, the day was long and the battles were difficult.

Bishop got up from the fire, hiding their packs in a small trapdoor near the cabin entrance and stretching himself on the bed. The cabin had no door an there were many holes in the wooden walls, but it was no more exposed then when they camped out in the wilderness.

Bishop moved towards the wall and outstretched his arm across the pillow, gesturing at Aeyrin to lay herself beside him.

She raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” he chuckled at her reaction readily.

She scoffed at him and shook her head but still lay on the bed beside him, resting her head where his shoulder met his arm.

She looked up above her.

The ceiling had barely any wood in it, most of the view consisted of the multitude of stars shining straight at the two of them.

It was a beautiful sight.


	9. In Parting

Bishop woke up as the dawn was just breaking, the lazy sunrays peeking through the holes in the cabin roof.

Aeyrin was curled up around him, her head resting on his shoulder, her gold-blond hair splayed across his arm and chest. Her hand was laid on his left breast, her nails gently tightening into him every so often. He was grateful that she didn’t clutch his wounded flank in the same way. One of her legs was draped across his own as she pressed her body against his, breathing steadily.

He looked her over; the olive skin on her cheeks seemed to almost glisten in the morning sun. She was so small, probably as short as a male Bosmer. Her expression seemed peaceful – after a long time, there weren’t any creases of worry apparent on it.

He brushed a strand of her hair from her face while his face softened.

She looked so beautiful.

Images filled his thoughts, of tearing that filthy tunic off of her, grasping her wrists in his hands as she gasped under him. He wanted to run his tongue down her collarbone towards her breasts, which, although mostly hidden by the baggy shirt, seemed larger than he would expect on her slight figure. He wanted to press her soft body close to him, to map every inch of it with his hands.

He raised his hand towards her face, stroking the long pointed tip of her ear lightly. She gave out a quiet whimper as her hand tightened on his chest again. He smiled but suddenly stopped himself.

What was he doing?

He untangled himself from her clutch, careful not to wake her.

He moved slowly towards the foot of the bed and got up, looking her over once again.

She was just a girl, like any other. Just a girl he wanted to sleep with, there was nothing more to it. He knew her for a few days, no more, he couldn’t even trust her, he didn’t really know her at all.

Not to mention the things that happened yesterday.

The guards wouldn’t keep their mouths shut. Everyone would know who she was. The next time they came to Whiterun, every idiot would be on her like flies on honey – they would ask her to help them, tell her about some higher purpose she was supposed to have and she wouldn’t say no to any of them. She would want to drag him all over Skyrim to help every damned fool who was too weak to help himself.

That Dragonborn thing might even get in her head, she was partial to religious bullshit after all. In no time she would start proclaiming herself the chosen of Akatosh or some such nonsense.

He should just leave.

He looked around contemplating.

She _did_ help him get Karnwyr back.

Maybe he owed her a bit more than leaving without a word. He would take her to Whiterun and part ways with her there. Then he could just find some friendly wench at a tavern and forget about all this bullshit. Go back to hunting for coin, with no one but Karnwyr on his side.

That was the life, no attachments, no worries. Once you get attached, things turn to shit fast. She wasn’t his type anyways. Some inhibited preacher, scoffing at everything he did. Without a doubt she would try to change him, blabbering some bullshit about becoming a better person or something similarly pointless.

He didn’t need that.

Karnwyr approached him with a yawn, nuzzling Bishop’s leg lazily.

He inclined his head when he noticed Bishop staring at Aeyrin, deep frown on his face.

The wolf jumped on the bed promptly, stretching himself out next to her and waking her by licking first at her hand, then at her face.

Aeyrin started to giggle without opening her eyes, she draped her arm across Karnwyr’s body, reaching behind his ears and stroking and scratching his fur there as the wolf barked happily, wiggling his tail rapidly.

Bishop has never seen Karnwyr take to anyone this fast. He was a wolf… he usually ignored people, at most he growled at them or avoided them.

He was acting like a pet around her.

The only other person Karnwyr was this friendly was… no, he wasn’t going to think about him.

Aeyrin sat up on the bed, her hand still petting Karnwyr, she beamed a smile at Bishop.

“Morning.”

Bishop only nodded in response, his face scowling fiercely.

“Is something wrong?” she inclined her head “I didn’t keep you up at night, did I?” she blushed slightly.

“Not in the way I’d prefer, princess,” he shook his head, the frown still etched deeply on his face.

“Poor you,” she chuckled at his relentlessness. It was somewhat endearing.

She got up from the bed and stretched herself.

She tried to remember where they were heading today, going over yesterday’s events in her head, as a lump started forming in her throat. She sat back on the bed, petting Karnwyr absentmindedly.

“Where do we go?” she asked, looking up at Bishop, hoping he would have some answers that she didn’t.

He shrugged: “The Dunmer wanted you back in Whiterun.”

Bishop looked at her for a while as she just lowered her head and nodded, looking… lost.

“You can go wherever you like,” he said after a moment, his scowl softening for a bit. He didn’t know what he was hoping for her to do. He wanted to go to Whiterun, send her towards whatever whoever had in store for her and lose himself in a drink and some welcoming arms. He also wanted to leave, _with_ her, just… anywhere.

“I need to know more…” she sighed solemnly, staring into the moldered floorboards.

He nodded curtly. Whiterun it is then.

…

As soon as they entered the city, they noticed both civilians and guards throwing them strange looks, some of them whispering to each other as they walked by, some nodding or bowing in their passing, some throwing contemptful looks.

Apparently word traveled fast.

Bishop groaned in annoyance and Aeyrin blushed fiercely, trying to hide her face from the townsfolk.

He contemplated leaving right away, but he _was_ a little curious. He wanted to know what the jarl said to her, what idiotic meaning they would ascribe to all this. He could always leave after.

They made their way to Dragonsreach, leaving Karnwyr resting on the stone steps.

When they approached the throne, the jarl nodded at them in acknowledgement, sending one of his guards to fetch the wizard.

“First, let me express my gratitude at your assistance with the dragon. You helped defend my hold from the beast with no obligation towards me or my citizens. Proventus!” he motioned to his steward who produced two bags of gold, handing one to Bishop and one to Aeyrin.

Well, at least he got something from it, Bishop thought.

“Now, you, lass, are an outsider to these parts if I’m not mistaken?” he inclined his head towards Aeyrin who only nodded in response.

“There are many legends surrounding the Dragonborn. Farengar can tell you more, but they are just that – legends. Truth is, we do not know what this all would mean. Farengar is however convinced that you are essential in ridding us of this dragon menace,” the jarl inclined his head towards the wizard.

“Yes, I have dedicated much of my studies to dragon lore. From what I gather, a dragon cannot be killed, not truly. If someone should defeat it, it would rise again. Unless… its soul would be consumed,” the wizard paused, letting the information sink in.

“There is considerable amount of lore surrounding the Dragonborn being the only ones who may kill a dragon for good. This is fortunate, as it seems the dragon you saw at Helgen was not the same one you defeated yesterday. Am I correct?”

Aeyrin only nodded, her throat felt swollen. There were so many guards there yesterday and she was still shocked any of them survived the fight. Now he was saying there would be more dragons? And that _she_ was supposed to be the one to kill them?

“The dragons seem to have made their return in Skyrim,” the wizard nodded. His expression was strangely fascinated, even excited.

“We still know very little about the beasts and about the Dragonborn themselves. As far as anyone knew, they all died with the Septim line,” the jarl pointed out ponderingly, stroking his fingers through his thick beard.

“I would suggest learning more. The College of Winterhold holds the largest repositories of lore in all of Skyrim. It may be a good place for you to start,” Farengar looked more as if he was thinking out loud than actually addressing her.

“There’s also Greybeards,” the jarl added. “They're the masters of the Way of the Voice - of Shouting. They live up on top of the Throat of the World. If you're really Dragonborn, they'll want to talk to you. In the old stories, they always summon the Dragonborn for training.”

“True, they would likely have much more to tell you,” the wizard nodded, his fascinations still palpable.

“I regret that we cannot tell you more,” the jarl sighed “This is a difficult time for all of Skyrim, if the dragons have truly returned and war wages across out land, it will be a long hard road for all of us to walk.”

…

Neither of them spoke for a while when they left Dragonsreach.

Everything felt too overwhelming for Aeyrin and yet she felt like she knew nothing what was in store for her.

Was she expected to roam around Skyrim killing dragons? She was still surprised that she survived the attack at Helgen and she felt like she barely did anything in the fight against the second beast. How was she supposed to kill a dragon without the help of the guards… or all alone? Bishop didn’t look like he was willing to take on all of Skyrim’s problems.

And how many dragons could there be anyways?

Everyone seemed to talk about Nord legends and that Shouting.

She didn’t know what any of that meant for her.

They said it was a blessing of Akatosh, but it didn’t feel like it… anytime she sought solace in the blessing of the Eight she only felt peace and calm, and her newfound abilities only seemed to fill her with pain, fear and turmoil.

Perhaps it was a test? They said those ‘masters of the Voice’ would summon her for training, but what did that mean? And when?

She could go to the College of Winterhold. She read about it before her journey to Skyrim. One of the people in Bruma called it ‘the one island of knowledge in the Skyrim sea of ignorance’. Would they even let her in? She tried to visit the Arcane University before but the mages didn’t let any outsiders in.

She should just focus on her more immediate tasks.

Divines willing, the right path will reveal itself to her. It always did.

Bishop took a deep breath: “Listen, sweetness…“

“We need to get you to the temple!” she interrupted him before he even started.

He gave her a confused look.

“The wound! You need to have it healed. I almost forgot about it. And now I have some gold for a new armor. And a weapon. And the priestess is still waiting for the sacred knife we got from the hagraven...” Aeyrin seemed lost in thought, musing on what to do first.

“Right… look, maybe it would be better if…” Bishop sighed as she turned to him.

There was still so much worry on her face.

It didn’t matter; he needed to get away from her. She probably knew that. Maybe she was manipulating him with those big eyes and that sad expression… _I’m leaving_. Why couldn’t he just say it to her face? He needed to think.

“How about you go get your armor and we meet up at the tavern?” he sighed again, resigning himself to postpone it.

“You’re going to the temple,” she frowned at him stubbornly.

“It’s fine, princess. Nothing a drink won’t fix,” he smirked weakly.

“No. You are going to the temple!” she repeated, her frown deepening as she folded her arms across her chest.

“Don’t think you can order me around, ladyship. I’m not here to lick your boots. I will do whatever the fuck I want!” he scowled back at her, staring her down.

“Why are you being so stubborn? You know it needs healing!” she shook her head in both confusion and frustration “I need to go see the priestess anyway, we can just go to the temple together and…”

“I’m not coming with you.” Bishop closed his eyes as to not look at her. She wouldn’t be able to convince him anyways so there was no point in trying.

“Oh…” the closed eyes didn’t manage to protect him from the sadness in her voice.

“I… understand. Actually, I thought you might not… never mind,” she stuttered “Still… thank you for… everything, I guess.” she sighed as Bishop opened his eyes to see her staring into the ground.

“I have a lot of things… just… get some healing, please,” she looked at him only for a split second, her eyes glittering much more than usual. She turned her gaze to Karnwyr briefly, likely wondering whether she should say goodbye, but decided against it and just nodded at Bishop curtly, swiftly heading towards the temple of Kynareth.


	10. Purpose

Aeyrin enter the temple, noting there were several priest tending to the wounded.

She looked around for the head priestess Danica, but felt sudden relief when she didn’t see her. She didn’t really feel like talking to anyone.

She slipped into one of the adjacent rooms which was empty and settled herself on the ground in front of one of the shrines.

Why was she so upset? She suspected he would want to leave. She was prepared for this. She traveled alone all throughout Cyrodiil.

True, she did not know Skyrim at all and a lot of the people seemed more… antagonistic towards her kind than the people in the Imperial Province, but surely it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

It was nice traveling with someone, and she felt like they were beginning to become friends, but she could still probably see him somewhere and talk between their separate travels.

Why didn’t that make her feel better?

Everything just felt so overwhelming. In Cyrodiil, she could always return to Chorrol, see Master Therien, talk to the priests. Here she had no one she could turn to. No place she could call home. No hideout she could disappear to.

This pilgrimage was a terrible idea. Everything went so wrong.

She started to rely on Bishop more than she knew, and he seemed to warm up to her too, hopefully not only because of his attraction to her.

Now she was alone again... with no idea what to do next.

“Oh, you’re back!” the voice behind her startled her.

“Seeking guidance, child?” Danica gave her a sympathetic smile as she watched her kneel by the shrine.

“It seems the only thing I’m doing lately,” Aeyrin nodded sadly, getting up from the floor and presenting the dagger to the priestess.

…

Bishop headed towards the tavern first.

It was done. Good. He didn’t know why he hesitated. She would be fine. For fuck’s sake she could Shout people to pieces, what did she want _him_ around for? She didn’t need help in battle, she didn’t want to sleep with him, so why did she want him around? To try to ‘reform’ him? Another good deed for her Gods? Waste of time. He didn’t need anything from her… well, not anything he couldn’t get from any other wench anytime. All he needed otherwise was a decent drink and Karnwyr.

Where was Karnwyr?

Bishop turned around, seeing his friend sitting on the steps where he and Aeyrin parted, looking in the direction of the temple.

He returned to him with angry strides.

“What are you doing? We’re not waiting for her!” he admonished him in frustration.

Karnwyr inclined his head at him with a low questioning whine.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you? You’ve known her for a few days! Come!” he threw his arms up in exasperation.

Karnwyr, slowly went over to Bishop, looking back at the temple a few more times.

Why did he let her get to him so much? Why did he care whether she was alright without him, or whether he was hurting her feelings by leaving? That wasn’t him.

It’s been only a few days but they still spent a lot of time together during them. They practically never left each other’s sight. He couldn’t remember the last time he spent so much time at once with anyone.

Not since Jules.

Well… unless he counted the innkeepers, but he didn’t really talk to them much.

Whatever.

She was still more trouble than she was worth. He would forget her soon enough.

He entered the Mare determinedly, leaving Karnwyr at the entrance.

…

The work was relaxing and allowed her to clear her head a little.

She overreacted.

She lost a touchstone, it was nothing new. It happened to her more than once. All she needed was to take a breath and decide what to do next.

“Make it flatter, dear, or you won’t have enough metal to cover everything,” the smith frowned at her, examining her work.

“Right. Do you happen to remember how wide it was supposed to be?” Aeyrin blushed at her in embarrassment.

“It’s your measurements, don’t you remember?” the Nord woman laughed at her, flipping her long dirty-blond braid over her shoulder.

Aeyrin shook her head looking at the ground bashfully.

“Why don’t you write them down, dear?” the woman shook her head with a lighthearted chuckle.

“I thought I would actually remember them this time…”

The blacksmith brought her measuring stick and placed it at Aeyrin’s back again.

It wasn’t so easy – different materials had to be melded in different places so the measurement weren’t always the same. But Aeyrin suspected she wouldn’t remember the numbers anyways. This time she spent a lot of money on the materials. Her new bronze armor would be even better than her old steel one. And she had enough for a mace and a smaller shield too.

Danica gave her some coins for her service too and asked her to take the sacred blade to a grove where she would gather an ancient tree’s sap – this would restore the old tree in the town square.

Things weren’t so bad. She had new equipment – well, almost – she had a clear task and direction and she still had coin left for supplies for the journey and a room to stay in tonight.

One thing at a time, she thought to herself.

No more dragons, legends or obscure blessings. The path will reveal itself.

She took a deep breath, trying to chase away the uncomfortable burning sensation at the back of her head. It always returned when she was anxious. But not now. She was helping heal Kynareth’s spirit. She had a purpose.

…

Aeyrin’s pack was now at least twice its size with all the new equipment.

She got rid of the ineffective iron armor as well as her old weapon and clothes, determined for a new and better start in Skyrim.

The new tunic was a bit tight around her body, but it was either that or another Nord-sized sack that she would have to re-tuck into her armor every so often. She suspected the clothes she bought were actually meant for a child, but beggars cannot be choosers.

She headed towards the tavern, looking forward to a bath and hopefully plenty of sleep with a clear head.

Karnwyr perked up as he saw her approach the inn and barked at her happily.

She ruffled his fur amicably. This meant Bishop was inside. She suspected this, he made it clear where he was headed.

She took a deep breath before entering. She was hoping to talk to him anyways, hoping to salvage the situation, tell him she wasn’t upset and that she understood that he wanted to leave. She was caught off guard, that was all. It was his life to live and she was hardly entitled to his help. And maybe this way they would see each other again.

She entered the tavern, looking around first.

She didn’t see him anywhere – maybe he went to sleep. Or perhaps he actually listened to her and was visiting the temple.

Aeyrin paid for a room and a dinner and headed for the baths before her meal was ready. Maybe she would run into him in the morning.

…

As she exited the baths and headed towards one of the empty tables she noticed him.

He was sitting in a poorly lit corner of the common room at a small table obviously meant for one.

There was an Imperial woman sat on his lap, her arms firmly placed around his neck and her open mouth planted over his in a deep kiss. Bishop had one of his hands entangled in her chestnut hair and the other groping her backside as she shifted on his lap.

Aeyrin’s face flushed immediately at the sight.

Suddenly she didn’t know what to do with herself. She looked away swiftly but caught herself glancing at the scene far too often for her liking.

She contemplated leaving the inn. It felt strangely uncomfortable for her to be there.

“Are you gonna sit, somewhere?” Saadia interrupted her nervous shuffling with a plate ready for her.

“Umm… yes,” Aeyrin mumbled and sat at her intended table as Saadia placed the plate in front of her.

The spot was too well-lit, she felt like he would see her there. She wondered for a second why should she mind. There were never… involved. They weren’t even friends, not really. Why was she so thrown by this?

“Are you gonna sing for us?” Saadia asked with a hopeful smile.

“No… not tonight,” Aeyrin mumbled quickly, attempting to hide her face with her hand, inconspicuously.

Saadia looked into the corner with a disgusted sneer. “Men… what are you gonna do. Don’t let it get to you, sweetie,” she smiled at her with a sympathetic expression.

“Oh… no… I’m not…” Aeyrin mumbled, flustered at how much attention her discomfort was garnering.

“Besides, I heard some things about you,” the Redguard leaned in as she whispered “I bet all the guys will be falling at the feet of the legendary Dragonborn.”

Aeyrin cringed at her words, but attempted to maintain her composure as best as she could.

“Sure. Thank you,” she brushed the server off, digging into the food hastily so that she could retreat to her room as soon as possible.

She hated so much how easily frazzled she got. She had so much hope for salvaging her day, for starting over. Now it felt like nothing changed, her mind swirling with unpleasant thoughts, the back of her head on fire.

She tried to imagine the last place where she felt at peace. Her thoughts returned to last night at the cabin, staring at the starry sky. The memory didn’t help, now it just felt so… meaningless.

She just needed to get out.

She quickly finished at least part of her meal and got up from the table hastily, as the Imperial woman’s giggle rang through the inn.

She hurried towards the rooms, suddenly crashing into a large Nord man in full plate armor. It was so loud – the whole tavern quieted to see what happened.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she slipped past him quickly, not turning to see if Bishop looked at her. She ran into her room slamming the door behind her with a loud crash. Great, another noise.

She breathed out deeply. What was wrong with her? She needed to calm down. There was no reason for her to panic, like she did, she was placing too much importance on that man. She remembered Master Therien admonishing her for this very thing when she was younger. Every time he left the temple for a longer time she started to panic. Maybe because he was the first person ever to make her feel like she wasn’t all alone in the world.

Bishop made her feel like that too and now she was doing the same thing she worked so hard to overcome.

Well… at least she had practice.


	11. Stupor

He felt like he was being smothered.

The girl was wrapped around him, her arm and leg clutching him towards her body, her head on his chest, hair tickling his face.

He started untangling himself grumpily.

The girl stirred as soon as he moved her away from him, trying to pull him back groggily. He pushed her away more firmly and sat himself on the bed, his head pounding.

Last night was a blur. He remembered drinking a lot, then the girl… he didn’t really remember anything they said to each other, just some bits and pieces of the night after. He remembered she kept screaming out something and that it annoyed him. He also remembered Aeyrin, but he wasn’t sure if he saw her, talked to her or if he was just thinking about her.

Whatever, that was over anyways.

He got up from the bed and started to look for his clothes. He looked at the girl again, her face half-buried in a pillow and her naked body splayed on the bed unceremoniously.

“Uuuhm… come back here,” she mumbled into the pillow. She was a lot more tempting last night. Bishop pulled on his boots, grabbed his pack and left the room without saying a word.

The tavern was empty, save for a brightly dressed bard sitting at the bar.

When Mikael noticed Bishop, he mumbled something to the innkeeper and got up to leave, trying to avoid eye contact with him. Their last interaction got a little out of hand. Bishop looked him up in his room, much to Mikael’s dismay, but as he mentioned Carlotta’s name, the bard suddenly found his courage. It appeared he was really attached to bothering that woman. He started puffing up, yelling at Bishop that he won’t let him intimidate him. After a short exchange, things actually came to blows. The bard didn’t stand a chance against Bishop, of course, and he earned himself a nice shiner and a broken nose.

He looked fine now, probably paying the temple to fix it. Bishop left satisfied when the cowering bard promised to leave Carlotta and her daughter alone. He wandered if he actually kept his word.

Not that he cared about them, but it would be fun to scare the bard again.

Aeyrin would hate that he handled the situation this way. But she needed to learn that you don’t get ahead by being nice, that only got people killed.

Why was he thinking about her again?

He sat at the bar and ordered some mead to chase the hangover away. What would he do afterwards, he wondered. He felt like getting away from the city for sure. Maybe go back to the Rift for a while, camp somewhere in the deep woods.

Aeyrin would have loved the forests.

Dammit, again?

“Rough night?” Hulda smirked at him somewhat meanly.

“Mmm-hmm,” he grumbled, downing the mug in one. It helped chase the hangover off a little.

“Hope this is not a start to another one, you caused plenty of trouble already,” she shook her head, the smirk still plastered on her face.

“What did _I_ do?” Bishop raised his eyebrows at her. As far as he knew, he only got drunk and took that girl in his room. Or her room? Whatever.

“You don’t remember?” she scoffed as she took away his tankard, dipping it into the dishwater. Bishop shook his head and gestured for another drink.

“You got into it with Sinmir. You’re lucky me and Saadia managed to calm him down or we’d be scraping you off of the wall,” she snorted derisively.

“Who the fuck is Sinmir?” Bishop frowned, he didn’t remember fighting anyone. And as if anyone would actually beat him in a tavern brawl! Well… depends on how drunk he actually was, supposedly…

“He’s a mercenary. A big Nord, don’t think I’ve ever seen him without his armor on,” she shrugged noncommittally. “That little thing you were here with a few nights back crashed into him and ran off. He started complaining about it… some insults about elves, no one was really paying attention. Then you lunged at him, screamed at him that he won’t talk about her like that. That got everyone’s attention,” she smirked again, a bit mockingly. “You got to scraping, but nothing serious before we broke it off.”

He scowled at her fiercely, some flashes of the interaction coming back to his memory.

Why did he do that? He was drunk, sure, but still.

Why did he get so attached to her?

She was probably more interesting than any other person he met in a long while, true. She wasn’t anything like the people he hung around in Skyrim, or even anyone before. Small wonder, when everyone he knew were scumbags and bandits. She was naïve and always tried to ascribe some purpose or value to everything, which he always thought would be annoying him to no end, but it… wasn’t. He couldn’t fathom why.

She certainly found interesting fights, not to mention the gold. He could drink for a week without stopping from the coin from the jarl, and that was probably just the beginning.

Maybe he got too hasty.

It was fun to travel with her and Karnwyr liked her too.

And all that Dragonborn shit? Maybe it didn’t need to mean anything.

Fuck, if dragons were really back, they would likely attack anyone anyways. This way he could at least have someone around who would make sure they’re dead.

It’s not like anyone sent her to do some heroic quest to save the world or some bullshit like that.

He wondered when was the last time he actually traveled with someone – not just on some errand or a raid.

Probably Jules. He sighed; thinking about his brother always put him in a foul mood.

“There you are dear, you ran off so quickly last night, didn’t even sing for us,” Hulda smiled at someone at the other side of the room, by the bedrooms entrance.

Bishop turned around; Aeyrin looked a bit caught off guard, but gave him a brief uncertain smile.

He nodded at her and gestured towards a table in the corner where they sat a few nights back.

Aeyrin ordered them breakfast and joined him with slight trepidation. She sat at the table bedside him, looking down at her hands rather than at him.

“Look, I just wanted to… I kind of maybe… overreacted,” she sighed. “I understand that you want nothing to do with me and this… mess,” she raised her eyes to his after a while, giving him a sincere look. “I don’t blame you, and we’ve only know each other for a little while,” again she looked down, fiddling with her fingers.

“I just hoped maybe sometimes I could see you and Karnwyr again… without it being weird,” she chuckled nervously. Why would he even want that? She was just anxious about having no friends or, really, anyone to talk to in Skyrim, but he didn’t seem to have the same worries.

Bishop was wondering whether she would even want him back, before she spoke, he realized he never before considered the idea that she didn’t actually want him around anymore. This surprised him. But he couldn’t look too eager. That would be strange, why would he be eager anyways?

“Where are you headed?” he asked as coldly as possible, maintaining a stony expression.

Aeyrin shrugged. “I don’t know… the path will… well, something will come up,” frowning a bit, she pulled out her map and splayed it across the table. There were new markings there, one headed towards Kynesgrove, right by Lost Knife, the other leading into Falkreath.

That was… strange. Why those two places?

“What’s there?” he asked, trying not to show his discomfort.

“Here,” she pointed towards the eastern mark, “Danica wanted me to gather the sap of the ancient tree to heal the one in the square.”

He’d heard of the sanctuary where the Kynareth priests worshipped some giant tree – that must have been it. Not Lost Knife then, good. Although he wasn’t really sure what or who was in that cave anymore, he still stayed clear of it.

“Why Falkreath?” he narrowed his eyes at the western mark in suspicion.

Aeyrin shrugged: “I don’t really know, I asked Danica what was worth seeing around here. She said the forests of Falkreath are the most beautiful in Skyrim. I wanted to see them, maybe spend some time camping there, then maybe see if there’s any work in the city.”

Bishop frowned, if he was with her, Falkreath was out of the question, especially after what happened with Ysolda. Fuck, even if he wasn’t with her he still got an uncomfortable feeling thinking about her camping alone in Falkreath forests.

“Forget Falkreath, it’s overrated. You want to see something worth seeing in Skyrim, I can show you.”

Aeyrin pushed the map towards him, smiling slightly but still with a hint of sadness in her eyes as she handed him a piece of charcoal. Bishop rolled her map back instead, pushing it back towards her promptly.

“Not like that, princess. We can head out after we eat. Karnwyr’s been itching to run around anyways, the city life is not really his style.”

Aeyrin’s eyes went wide at him “What? But you said…”

“Yeah well, figured you’ll get me some interesting fights. And more gold than hunting,” he smirked. Yeah, that was the most logical reason. Not that he wanted to be around her… why would he aside from sleeping with her? The money and the adrenaline were too good to pass up. “If you want some company, that is.”

She just nodded with a bashful smile. “One condition, though,” she remembered and looked at him seriously.

It was gonna be something like ‘no sex’, he just knew it.

He rolled his eyes and grumbled: “What?”

She looked meaningfully at his wounded flank: “Dead men don’t make for useful travelling companions.”

He shook his head with a smirk “Fine.”

Well, it was better than ‘no sex’.

…

“Ugh. There you are,” the girl sat down heavily at their table, pressing her knee to her chest as she was still fastening her boot, ruffling her disheveled chestnut hair with her other hand.

Aeyrin flushed at the sight of her and turned her head away to look more nonchalant.

Bishop looked at her with a frown. Why did she approach them? They were done. He didn’t really deceive the women he was with, they always knew there we no attachments involved. Then again, he was really drunk and he didn’t exactly remember how things with her progressed throughout the evening.

“Oh you’re the one that started the fight last night,” she nodded towards Aeyrin, who gave her a baffled look, mouthing the word ‘fight’ silently.

“Hope you’re not planning on taking her with us,” the woman looked her over with contempt. What was she talking about, take her with them where?

Bishop wanted to question it, but then thought about it a little, realizing what she meant.

He gave Aeyrin an insolent grin, looking at her intently.

“Tempting,” he winked.

Aeyrin, flushed and frowned, preparing to say something, but was interrupted by the Imperial woman hitting Bishop in his upper arm with a clenched fist.

“Ugh, that’s not what I meant, you pig!” she shook her head. Her hand unclenched a moment later and instead her fingers started brushing his bicep over his tunic, her tone suddenly more sultry: “So… when are we heading out?”

“Where?” he scowled again, pushing her hand away from him.

“You don’t remember?” she gasped incredulously. “You promised you’d show me around the forests, that we would camp out under the stars and go on adventures…” she pouted, returning her hand to his arm, brushing it up his shoulder.

Bishop was at a loss for words for a minute, Aeyrin was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and disapproval. Whatever possessed him to promise the girl anything at all? Now he was racking his brain how to get rid of her, especially without looking like he was using some ploys and fake promises to get women. As if he ever needed to stoop to that.

“Look, I was really fucking drunk last night...” he grumbled.

“So what, you just said that so I’d sleep with you?! And now you’re on to the next one, right?!” she yelled out loud enough for Hulda to hear her and laugh out loudly and somewhat meanly.

“Don’t believe a word he says to you,” she turned to Aeyrin abruptly “He’ll say anything to get you to spread your legs for him, then he’ll vanish without a trace, just you wait!” she grabbed the mug in front of Bishop furiously and threw its contents at his face and a considerable part of the wall behind him. She put the mug down with a loud clank and turned on her heel, leaving the tavern angrily.

Aeyrin stared at his face, which was now dripping with mead, her mouth slightly ajar.

She wondered whether the woman was right. Bishop may not have goaded her on purpose, but then again he might have only wanted to travel with Aeyrin to get her to sleep with him. He made no secret of his interest and this was the second time already that some scorned woman warned her about him. She was reluctant to trust a stranger more than someone who has fought and risked his life by her side, but her mind still wandered.

Bishop wiped his face with his hand, shaking his head with annoyance. The deep scowl on his face softened very slightly when he looked at Aeyrin, filled out with what might have even been a little singe of guilt.

He sighed deeply. “I honestly don’t remember any of that… I must have been drunker than I thought,” he shrugged.

Aeyrin didn’t really answer, just nodded noncommittally.

“Look, I’m not trying to…” he looked at her, almost apologetic then shook his head, reconsidering what he was about to say. To be fair, he did want to sleep with her, but he’d already given up on convincing himself that it was all about that.

“Should I expect any other scorned women to warn me about you anytime soon?” she smirked slightly but there was still clear discomfort etched on her face.

He laughed a little uncertainly. “Not likely, but… you never know,” he smirked, heading towards the baths to clean himself up.

“Bishop?” she stopped him in his tracks. “What did she mean, I started a fight?” “

No idea, princess,” he lied and continued on his way hastily.

…

After they left the tavern, Aeyrin dragged Bishop into the temple of Kynareth practically by force, but he begrudgingly let the priest heal his wound.

“I could help you fix the armor,” she looked over his leather critically when he started to buckle it.

“Are you going to do that yourself? Like that effective cuirass of yours?” he smirked at her mockingly.

“Hey! I’ve gotten better,” she pouted, raising her index finger at him and started to fish in her pack for the individual pieces of her new bronze armor and clasping them on a near-black underchain she purchased.

“Aaawww, don’t put things on, I really like those new clothes of yours.”

She shook her head at him with an exasperated smile before she finished putting on her armor, striking a pose and throwing a proud look at him.

“Better. So, when was the last time you worked leather?” he smirked. 

“Well… never, but…”

He raised his hand to stop her with a laugh: “Yeah, I’m not giving you my armor. Besides, I can fix it myself.”

They left the temple, armored and healed and ready to leave the city behind. Karnwyr joined them with an excited bark, running around their feet, eager to finally enjoy some freedom.

“So, where are we going?” Aeyrin asked when they approached the arch over the opened city gates.

“Wherever we want to, ladyship.”


	12. Into the Rift

They travelled east along the White River.

They passed Valtheim towers as Bishop led their party a comfortable distance away from both the bandit-infested towers and the giant camp nearby – he knew the road well and he really didn’t want to repeat what happened to him and his brother there all those years ago.

Aeyrin complained a bit when he started to lead her into the southern Rift forest, rather than the Eldergleam Sanctuary, but Bishop convinced her that there was no rush. What was gonna happen to the dead tree anyways? It couldn’t get any deader.

He didn’t want to take her on the road around Lost Knife anyways – he knew how many bandits the caverns could hide. It’s been years since he’s been there, but he was still kind of notorious among that crowd, someone might have recognized him and that never ended well. It was safer to travel through the southern Rift and then head north, through Riften.

Hopefully, no one in Riften would recognize her as the Dragonborn. Rumors traveled fast, but they snowballed even faster. For all they knew, the public was now whispering of a Dragonborn who was a hundred year old orc shaman with a limp.

They often camped along the river or deep under the colorful canopy.

They explored some caverns along the way and even helped a man retake his family’s fort from bandits. Bishop insisted that the man was a bandit himself, but Aeyrin stubbornly refused to believe him.

They both got more and more comfortable with each other during the journey, spending several weeks in the woods, with only each other and Karnwyr for a company for the most part. They talked often and Aeyrin even told Bishop her interest in Talos and why her pilgrimage led her to Skyrim, which was the only place his worship was still alive.

Bishop shared more with her than he expected too, but only the more recent events. He even let Aeyrin tag along for hunting a couple of times – she was so bad. She couldn’t sneak quietly if her life depended on it, never paying enough attention to her surroundings, making sure to snap every branch and rustle every leaf, as if on purpose.

He kept expecting that they would get sick of each other or that they would clash on some issue and not get over it, but none of that happened.

They did argue, mostly whenever things concerned other people – he found Aeyrin’s outlook on life naïve and thought her eagerness to help would only get her hurt or killed, while she refused to assume everyone only cared about themselves.

They however never let the arguments get out of hand. It wasn’t certain whether it was because Aeyrin didn’t want to be too confrontational or whether it was because Bishop didn’t care enough to tell other people how to live.

…

They were sitting by the campfire, their resting place hidden by the mountainside.

There were several weathered broken pillars scattered around with what once was golden-colored plating, engraved with various geometrical ornaments. They were the remnants of the nearby Dwemer ruins.

Aeyrin ran her hand over the engravings, studying the relief while Bishop was roasting part of a rabbit he caught earlier.

“You sure it’s too dangerous?” Aeyrin turned to him, pouting slightly.

“Those construct things are nasty, princess. I delved into Dwemer ruins twice, both times barely managed to get away with my life.”

He looked away from the darkening meat above the fire and gave her a curious look: “Why are you so eager to go in there anyways?”

Aeyrin looked back at the broken pillar wistfully: “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a Dwemer ruin. I’ve hear there’s some structure at the Arcane University that was built with imported Dwemer materials, but I’ve never been allowed there.”

He smiled at her eagerness: “Maybe when we get a tip or something, it’s really not smart to get into one you know nothing about. Some of them can even take a week to explore.”

Aeyrin nodded, tearing her head away from the pillar reluctantly, looking over to the light coming from a farmhouse down the road from their camp.

Suddenly, as darkness began to fall, a deep rumble sounded throughout the forest, coming from the mountains in the west. The ground shook for a second, Bishop looking at the mountains with narrowed eyes, Aeyrin gripping onto the Dwemer pillar remnants, bracing herself for another tremor.

The rumble sounded like a voice, like actual words, but neither of them recognized them.

“What was that? Another dragon?” Aeyrin turned to Bishop, a hint of fright in her voice. She did not look forward to encountering another one of those beasts – not only would it likely kill them, but if they were lucky enough to survive, she would likely have to go through that horrible pain again.

“It sounded… louder.” Bishop shook his head, still watching the mountain with suspicion.

“So… a bigger dragon?” Aeyrin cringed. Bishop smirked, but removed their dinner away from the fire, pouring the contents of his waterskin over the flames.

“Whatever it was, we don’t need to attract its attention. Get used to the darkness, sweetheart.”

Aeyrin pulled a blanket from her pack and wrapped her around herself. That strange noise filled her with an uneasy feeling, one she was not able to shake.

Bishop managed to portion their dinner in the dark and handed Aeyrin her serving, sitting himself right next to her. Her black eyes were hard to see in the darkness, but he noticed her looking over towards the west several times, and she seemed much more on edge.

He noticed she got suspiciously silent and morose anytime any mention of dragons or her newfound abilities came up. She didn’t really do that Shouting thing ever again after the tower. And he thought _he_ got nervous by her being the Dragonborn.

If nothing else, he at least got pretty good at distracting her from these moods.

“So, I have a question,” he nudged her elbow, making sure she turned her eyes away from the mountains.

“I’ve met some… people… from the temples. I hear they take a lot of vows or some shit like that.”

Aeyrin rolled her eyes, knowing where this discussion was headed. She heard that so many times before.

“That wasn’t a question,” she smirked teasingly, determined not to give him the answer too easily.

He laughed a bit before trying again: “No, I guess not. So, did you? Vow to never do anything fun ever again?” His voice covered a mocking sneer, it was clear he despised the notion alone.

“I took some vows. Everybody does.” she smiled, still not wanting to tell him what he wanted to know. He should try harder.

“Wait, everybody does? So if you wanna join in their preaching, you have to swear off your whole life?” he snorted derisively. Why would anyone agree to that? And what exactly happened to the people that broke the vows? Hopefully nothing… then again… there was someone who deserved some divine smiting for what he did.

“I’m not really sure what your ‘whole life’ consists of…” Aeyrin smirked at him again, “but you don’t have to swear off anything. Initiates take vow to live by the Nine Commands. When you pass your training, you become a cleric. They vow to heal – the people, the land, spirits, not when they ask, but when they need.”

“Explains why you get so obsessed with every scratch,” he grinned at her.

“Then you undergo a vigil and become either a priest or a paladin. Those forswear some things to show their devotion to the church, some overindulgences mostly.” Aeyrin explained the rest, purposefully not voicing the information he was looking for. He was so obvious with this… she wondered if he ever thought about anything else.

Bishop shook his head. “It’s fucking idiotic. Why would Gods care if you drink or fuck? Who even told you they care?” he scoffed again, his face crinkling in contempt.

“They don’t. Besides, both Dibella and Mara celebrate love and its… expressions,” she blushed lightly before continuing. “It’s not _for_ the Gods. It’s for the priests and paladins, to help them maintain their focus on helping and healing.”

Bishop was getting increasingly upset over this. Normally he didn’t seem to care about what Aeyrin’s compatriots did when she told him about her life in the temple.

“What ice-brain thought of that?! It’s a wonder you people don’t explode with no outlet. Besides, isn’t your whole damn pilgrimage against that? Weren’t you supposed to explore and experience?”

Aeyrin chuckled at his outburst. “Explore and experience what honors the Divines,” she corrected him. “Why are you so angry? I thought you didn’t care about religion,” she smirked, taunting him.

He looked at her for a while. In the moonlight she saw as a crooked smile formed on his face, but his eyes were still frowning. He leaned closer to her and she felt his hot breath on her ear: “I’m just worried about you, princess. I don’t want you to think someone will smite you, when you cannot resist me anymore. Believe me, it’s inevitable.”

Aeyrin laughed at his antics, pushing him away, her cheeks flushing as usual. She got up, straightening her bedroll and pulling the blanket off her shoulders. She turned back to Bishop for a while, bending down to whisper in his ear in retaliation: “It’s a good thing I never became a priestess then.”

She turned back abruptly, getting into her bedroll fast to hide her blush. She could swear she saw Bishop’s pleased grin despite the darkness.

…

The next day they continued along the base of the Jerall mountains towards Riften.

“And don’t get mixed up with the Thieves Guild, believe me, it’s better to ignore them,” Bishop scoffed, hoping none of them would bother him either. They didn’t really part on good terms the last time he had business with them but luckily, they’ve been mostly content with the whole ‘live and let live’ concept between each other ever since.

“Don’t try to rat them out either, or… reform them or whatever. They have everyone in their pockets,” he sighed, worrying she might be tempted to undermine the Guild’s stranglehold on the city. They weren’t what they used to be, but it still wasn’t a good idea to mess with them, especially when it came to Frey.

“Doesn’t the jarl do anything about them?” Aeyrin asked curiously.

“She’s scared shitless of the Black-Briars… like anyone else in that city, and they have some deal with the Guild.”

“Black-Briar. Why is that familiar?” she wondered.

“Black-Briar mead,” Bishop grinned.

“That’s right! I don’t like that one,” Aeyrin wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t a big fan of mead altogether but it warmed her up in the cold weather rather nicely. It was always so cold in Skyrim…

“Yeah, it’s watered down. But drunks don’t care.”

…

They approached the southern city gate, stopped by the two guards, barring their entry with their weapons.

“Visitor’s tax!” one of them proclaimed with a grin, outstretching his greedy hand towards them.

“300 gold,” the other looked them over appraisingly, likely gauging how much they could afford.

“Visitor’s tax?” Aeyrin frowned.

“No fucking way,” Bishop folded his arms across his chest stubbornly, tapping his foot impatiently.

“No tax, no entry,” the first guard gave another wide grin, obviously all too pleased with himself.

“I’ve never heard of a visitor’s tax,” Aeyrin eyed them with suspicion.

“There’s no tax, princess, the skeever-scats are trying to rob us,” Bishop rolled his eyes at the two idiots barring their passage.

The guards laughed merrily at their reaction. “Of course not, _princess_ ,” one of them gave her a mocking smirk. “We uphold the law here in Riften. And our illustrious citizens have to pay taxes.”

“It’s for the poor orphans,” the other one chuckled. “You wouldn’t want the poor orphans to starve because you’re stingy, would you, _princess_?”

“We are not giving you any money!” Aeyrin retorted with disgust. Bishop warned her about the thieves in the city but she never expected the guards to participate in this. She understood that a lot of people who resort to stealing and robbing found themselves in difficult situations with no way out. If things turned out differently, she may have even been one of them. But these men had jobs and clearly weren’t sick and starving. On top of that, trying to use some orphans as an excuse was despicable.

“We can take different sorts of payment,” one of them grinned again, looking her over suggestively, followed by a roaring laughter from both of them.

“You’ll be lucky if you only get a black eye,” Bishop growled at them with a fierce scowl on his face.

“I’m sure she’d enjoy herself,” the guard smirked at Aeyrin, raising his brows repeatedly, lasciviously.

“Yeah, he’s just afraid she’ll run off with us when she finds out what she’s missing with him,” the other guy roared with laughter again.

Bishop’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Aeyrin noticed his fists clench. She quickly grabbed him by his upper arm, dragging him away from them, only briefly mumbling in response: “I’ll pass.”

Their laughter still rung through the woods when she finally managed to get him away from their sights.

“What are you thinking? You can’t attack guards!” she shook his head at him, reprimanding.

“They were pissing me off!” he growled, still looking over his shoulder from time to time at the direction of the two men.

“They’d be pissing you off much more in prison,” she smirked, shaking her head again. Wasn’t _he_ the one who warned her not to start anything with anyone?

He breathed out deeply, smirking slightly at Aeyrin’s still flushed cheeks from the exchange with the two lechers – he liked how easily she got embarrassed, but it was way more satisfying when he was the one who got to tease her.

“Alright. Come,” he motioned for her to follow him and headed towards the shores of Lake Honrich.

“Take off the armor, we’re going for a swim,” he took her by the shoulders and turned her towards the city, there he pointed out small docks with numerous entry points straight from the water.

“You cannot be serious,” Aeyrin shook her head, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He grinned back at her, starting to unbuckle his black leather armor.

“I’d suggest stripping off all the way, but there might be people at the docks. Don’t know if your sensibilities could take it,” he laughed, now earning the red hue on her cheeks by himself. “But I’d sure like to see all the places that blush spreads,” he winked at her, observing her crimson face redden even more as he hid his armor and boots into his pack and walked over towards the shore.

There were several barrels and crates floating in the lake close to the shore, likely some lost cargo from the boats which were visible in the docks. The docks were hardly fit for larger vessels, it seemed like they were used merely for supply transport.

Bishop plunged into the water, grabbing one of the barrels and dragging it back to the shore, he pulled himself from the lake, his clothes clinging to his muscular form. He opened the barrel, checking its contents while Aeyrin observed him curiously. He went back for his pack and threw it into the barrel. “Come on, then. You want me to help undress you?” he laughed as she still stood there, watching him with confusion.

“What’s with the barrel?” she asked uncertainly.

“Did you wanna drag all your armor and weapons with you while swimming? You’d go down fast.”

She unclasped her armor and got out of her underchain, leaving only her new tight clothes. She got a bit nervous that her tunic was white and very closely clinging to her body.

“What if the people in the docks report us?” she asked, unsure. She still kind of hoped Bishop would reconsider his plan. She never thought she would have to sneak into a city. Then again, they did not have enough money to pay the guards, not before selling their loot anyways, and she certainly wasn’t going to pay them in any other way. Besides they didn’t deserve anything for the racket they were pulling.

“No one reports anything in Riften, sweetness. Come on, it’s not that cold,” he gestured towards her.

She sighed, putting her equipment in her pack and taking it towards the barrel with an uncertain expression.

“Those barrels are… convenient,” she eyed it suspiciously. It seemed like an awfully lucky coincidence that they were provided with the exact thing they needed to get into the city.

“They’re for smuggling – mostly small stuff. They look like flotsam and people shipping supplies often use them to avoid inspections. The barrel doesn’t get to the docks the same time as the ship so at worst, someone else finds your shit. No jail though,” he grinned.

“Inspections? You said no one reports anything.”

“No, but they take cut,” he smirked.

He closed the barrel, testing its durability a bit by kicking it. In the meantime Karnwyr barked from behind them, returning from running around and hunting after quite some time.

“There you are,” Bishop nodded at him. “We almost left without you,” he gestured towards the city. Karnwyr barked again in acknowledgement and jumped into the water right away, swimming towards the docks. Aeyrin looked at him in surprise.

“You’ve done this before?” she turned to Bishop.

“Sure, lots of times. Karnwyr knows to wait for me in the docks if we don’t enter the city together.”

Bishop dragged the barrel into the water and entered alongside it. He wetted his hand and raised one finger above his head checking for wind. After a while he positioned the barrel a few feet away and gave it a push. The barrel started to move lazily towards the docks.

“It’ll take some time, but we’ll need to dry off anyways, so we can wait for it at the docks. Come on,” he gestured for her to follow him into the water.

Aeyrin was still a bit surprised at all his knowledge and skill around their illegal entry. She got used to him knowing all kinds of useful things to survive in the wilderness, which she would never even think of, but it started to look like his past was much more checkered than he let on. She was hardly one to judge though. She shivered a bit, trying to shake away the memories of her life before Master Therien brought her to the temple.

“It’s really not that cold,” Bishop rolled his eyes, misinterpreting her shiver.

Aeyrin nodded at him with a slight smile and plunged into the water after him… stupid Nords and their warped perceptions of what cold is.

…

Bishop was already sitting on one of the piers, watching her approach in the water.

She pulled herself up as fast as she could and immediately covered the now see-through fabric sticking to her breasts with her hands. Expectedly, that elicited a laugh from Bishop followed by an appreciative look over her soaking wet body.

“No need to be shy, sweetness, no one else is around right now,” he smirked, his eyes still roaming over her form.

“I’m hiding from you, ice-brain!” she chuckled nervously, sitting next to him on the pier, still clutching her arms to her chest.

They sat there for a while, watching the barrel very slowly make its way towards them, the sun shining straight at them, drying their attires slowly.

“What if the guards from the gate find us?” Aeyrin turned to him, shivering slightly from the wet clothes getting even colder on her body in the cool air. She was becoming increasingly cold during the nights as they spent their time in the woods. Bishop didn’t say a word though, even taking off his boots often and spending barely any time in his armor in the camp. It must have been the Nord resistance to the element. She didn’t even want to imagine what it was like in the north, by the Sea of Ghosts. She wondered if it was too cold there even for Nords.

Her hands rested on her shoulders as she still held her arms across her breasts. She carefully moved them towards her throat, then her ears, lighting them with the warm light of healing magic. She heard once that it helped prevent diseases from the cold. A travelling Breton told her that when she mentioned she was heading to Skyrim. Maybe he was only making fun of her though.

Bishop whistled loudly and in a matter of seconds Karnwyr rushed towards them. To Aeyrin’s dismay, the wolf ruffled his fur, shaking the remaining drops of water all over them, eliciting a yelp from her.

Bishop chuckled lightly, then pointed towards the barrel: “Guard it. No thief is getting their grubby hands on my shit.”

Karnwyr barked in agreement and sat at the pier, looking around vigilantly.

“Come on,” he gestured towards Aeyrin “I know a place we can dry up faster.”

Bishop led her to one of the buildings in the docks.

Two men were inside, moving crates about, likely laborers. Bishop went over to them and handed each a small amount of coins, saying something in a low voice.

Aeyrin was still hiding herself desperately, now even more uncomfortable with other people around. She noticed one of them leer at her and tried to look away from him pointedly.

Soon enough Bishop led her in an adjacent room where a fire was flickering mercifully in the fireplace with few cushions placed on the floor.

“What did you tell them?” she frowned, expecting him to use the same ploy he did at the hunter’s rest.

“That we need a place to dry off,” he smirked. “A lot of people actually get into the city this way. Sometimes it’s wanted criminals or shitty smugglers who can’t afford a boat. I’ve been here before, but usually I just dry off at the docks, doesn’t take that long when the sun is high,” he shrugged.

“I wouldn’t pay them normally, but I thought it would be a shame if you froze that pretty ass off,” he laughed, giving her a cheeky wink.

Aeyrin smiled, moving closer to the fire, a pleasant heat enveloping her cold body. Bishop looked her over, her olive skin showing through the fabric of her tunic, clinging tightly to her shape. She really did have curves for an elf, as he suspected, and her smaller frame only accentuated them.

“You know, you really don’t need to get all shy around me, princess.”

She looked at him demurely over her shoulder, shaking her head. He chuckled at her again. He never met anyone this shy about anything sexual. His family certainly didn’t ascribe any importance to propriety or chastity and most people he associated with afterwards were generally all too free with their affections. It was strangely exciting and… elusive. He didn’t remember the last time he was actually intrigued by a girl, wondering what she looked like naked.

“So I guess the people in the church weren’t prone to… misbehave?” he smirked at her.

“What do you think?” she rolled her eyes at him.

“I don’t know, seems like the kind of place that would breed frustration. It’s always fun when that bubbles up.” he laughed.

“People were there voluntarily, you know. Most of them intended to take their vows so any… ehm… temptations were mostly avoided outright.” It still made for an uncomfortable subject to her. No one really discussed such things in the temple, aside from the general information needed for a healer’s training. Everyone was taught to respect the priests’ and paladins’ choices of abstaining and to be mature enough not to tease them. She was in for a surprise when she left and saw how expressive people in the ‘real world’ were with their affections. 

“I thought you grew up there. That was voluntary?”

She just nodded in response, pressing her knees to her chest and laying her head on them.

“Why don’t you tell me instead how you know so much about smuggling yourself into thief-infested cities?” she grinned at him mischievously.

He smirked a bit, noticing how quick she was to change the subject. Not that it mattered; he was hardly honest about his past either.

“Maybe I just don’t like paying the ‘tax’.”


	13. Thieves and Addicts

It took a while for them to finally dry up, but there was still light out.

When they left the building, Karnwyr was already waiting by their barrel, barking proudly. Apparently he defended the goods successfully. They grabbed their things and headed towards the city proper with the wolf in their tow.

They spent some time at the market, selling the loot they accumulated in their travels across the Rift.

Aeyrin talked to the local traders a bit, offering to help wherever she could. Riften looked like a town that chewed up every honest trader and spit them out all used up – the least she could do was to ease their hardships a little.

When evening was approaching she got distracted by a man peddling eagerly in one of the stalls, offering some exotic goods for sale. He spoke of Dwemer contraptions and even Falmer blood, which was strange, since Aeyrin thought all the Snow Elves were long dead.

She approached him with curiosity, looking over the odd goods in his stall. She picked up one of them, examining the circular golden disc with holes along the edge, carved with a Dwemer ornament in the middle.

“That, dear lass, is a special treasure. You have quite the eye for value,” the peddler smiled at her. He was wearing an embroidered brown tunic and expensive looking boots, a silver pendant in the shape of a horseshoe hanged around his neck. His red hair was braided and neat and he looked much less haggard than most of the people around the marketplace.

“What is it?” she moved the disc to look at it from different angles appraisingly.

“It’s from an ancient Dwemer ruins. This artifact is invaluable to…” he briefly looked at her pack, her bronze shield fastened at the back of it and the handle of her mace protruding tellingly from the inside. “… why to anyone daring enough, I suppose,” he chuckled. “This disc actually lights up entirely when it is near any Dwemer trap. And, believe me, lass, you would want to avoid those.”

Aeyrin raised an eyebrow at the disc. It seemed like a simple piece of metal. Then again, she never really saw many Dwemer contraptions. There were some pieces at the markets in Cyrodiil but they were mostly weapons and armor pieces. Still, something felt fishy about that disc.

“But lass, if you’re about to enter one of those ruins, you shouldn’t risk it without Falmer blood. That and the disc will guarantee you’ll walk out not only alive, but rich beyond your dreams,” the man presented a small potion bottle with red liquid to her.

“I thought the Snow Elves are all gone,” she smirked at him, a little more sure of his bad intentions, determined to catch him in his own lies.

He chuckled for a bit: “Not from around here, lass, are you? Valenwood?”

“Cyrodiil.”

He smiled knowingly: “It’s not widely known outside Skyrim, I suppose. Do you know the tale of the Snow Elves, the betrayal of the Dwarves, the corruption of their race?”

Aeyrin nodded, she remembered reading the tale when she was little.

“The Falmer are what remains of them, still lurking deep inside Dwemer ruins, filled with anger and hatred, waiting to strike,” he weaved his tale with an excited sparkle in his eye.

“You’re pulling my leg,” she giggled at his enthusiasm.

“Not at all, my dear. Drinking their blood will fool them to think you are one of them, sparing you a gruesome death.”

Bishop’s eyes searched for her in the marketplace after he finally convinced Grelka to lower her price on those shitty potions of hers. They were definitely watered down.

He saw her by a stall looking over some goods.

Heading towards her he noticed the man in the stall.

Great. It was too much to ask not to run into anyone from the Guild, but at least Brynjolf wasn’t as bad as some of the others.

He approached a little warily and right as Brynjolf spotted him, he tried to signal him inconspicuously to act like they didn’t know each other. Brynjolf didn’t do anything in response but he did avert his eyes from Bishop. He hoped that meant agreement.

“There you are,” Bishop approached Aeyrin, clasping her shoulder. “Ready to head to the inn?”

Brynjolf looked a little surprised as he addressed her, maybe he thought Bishop was coming over to help him rob her.

“Just a minute, I think, he’s lying,” Aeyrin chuckled at Brynjolf, who gave her an outraged look.

“I would never, lass. You, sir, you can back me up,” with a sly grin he turned to Bishop who shot him an annoyed look. “Tell her, sir, about the vile Falmer still living in Dwemer ruins, attacking the unwary explorers.”

Aeyrin looked over to Bishop, shaking her head in amusement.

“Well… yeah,” Bishop shrugged, baffled by the question.

“See, lass? Falmer blood! A real deal! You cannot brave one of those ruins without it.”

Aeyrin looked a little terrified at that revelation, looking over the vial in her hand warily.

“Yeah, he’s still trying to scam you, though. Falmer blood’s useless like any other blood,” Bishop snorted derisively.

Aeyrin shook her head, handing the vial back to Brynjolf with a demure smile.

“Nice to see you too, Bishop,” the man gave Bishop a satisfied smirk, blowing his cover intentionally. Bishop groaned in annoyance as Aeyrin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You know him?”

“I told you, I’ve been here before,” he shrugged, trying to give out as little information as possible.

“Of course, haven’t seen you for a while. Are you looking for a job?” Brynjolf continued with a permanent smirk on his face.

“No. We’re leaving,” Bishop grumbled, pulling on Aeyrin’s shoulder slightly to nudge her to leave.

“Come now, we could use the help,” Brynjolf continued. “You’re welcome to help the Guild too lass, if you prove yourself.”

Aeyrin turned to look at Bishop with a shocked expression.

“The Guild?” her eyes went wide.

Bishop shook his head in resignation.

“We’re not interested, Brynjolf,” he said firmly, pulling Aeyrin away from him, accompanied by Brynjolf’s chuckle.

“You worked for the Thieves Guild?” Aeyrin asked when they stopped by the nearby bridge.

“Look, it was a long time ago. I only helped out for some coin on occasion,” he sighed.

Thinking about the guild always made him think of Jules’s last days. He’d have rather forgotten ever knowing any of them, especially that skeever-fucker Frey. He wondered what she would think of that. He tried to keep his past with the Guild and the bandits a secret from her the whole time. First of all, he really didn’t want to talk about those things with anyone, secondly he suspected it might be one of the things that could drive her away. She wasn’t like any other priest or paladins he’s ever met, but he suspected her upbringing would inevitably leave her somewhat prejudiced towards their sort.

Was it even prejudice if he actually did all those shitty things bandits and thieves do? Somehow, he just wasn’t ready for them to part ways yet.

He looked at her, expecting some shocked outrage or disappointment in her expression.

She smiled slightly at him: “You could have said.”

He waited a bit, unsure whether she would continue with some admonishment or something, then he looked at her with suspicion: “That’s it? Aren’t you going to smite me or something?”

“How much smiting do you think actually goes on in the church? I’ve never seen anyone get smitten.” she laughed heartily. “Well… not in _that_ way, anyways,” she giggled.

Her face got a bit more sincere after a while: “Look, I know how easy it is to get into a bad situation and how hard it is to get out. I don’t judge people for their past,” she smiled at him “If you ever want to talk about it…” she looked up at him, her black eyes glittering in the setting sun, reflecting the red glare like two garnets.

He definitely didn’t, but the gesture was not lost on him. He grabbed her around her shoulder and squeezed her tightly against him as he led her towards the inn. He never expected that reaction. He wondered what she would do if she knew the whole story. But he was certainly not about to find out. But at that moment, it seemed like that girl wasn’t just fun company or a good challenge. There was something about her... 

…

As Aeyrin sang the sad ballad for the crowd in the Bee and Barb, she realized that her eyes fell on Bishop more and more often.

He watched her the entire time, not breaking the eye contact even to take a swig of his drink. She always felt blush creep up to her cheeks when she turned her eyes at him and he always smirked at that.

She’s never felt this anticipation and trepidation about anyone. She’s also never gotten so continually embarrassed by anyone.

There were men that expressed interest in her before, but they were either some lechers on chance encounters in taverns or on the road, or they were those she never saw as more then friends. She was attracted to Bishop from the start, but that wasn’t so unusual. What was unusual was that she actually felt like she actually _wanted_ to become more than his friend. She found herself thinking back on falling asleep in his arms at the hunter’s rest more often now. She cherished the memory for the gesture at first, now she cherished it more for the closeness they shared.

But there was still some part of her that was wary. Wary of the warnings she received in Whiterun and wary of him leaving again.

She thought she trusted him, but in the end there was always that stray thought, gnawing at her at all times.

She wondered if he would ever reveal his past with the Guild if that thief didn’t expose him.

Perhaps he was only wary of her reaction – she knew how differently people acted around her when they found out she was a member of the church of the Eight.

She admonished herself in her mind for doubting the man who watched her back for weeks because of vague warnings and drunken misunderstandings.

She finished her song, giving a smile and a bow to the clapping crowd.

Two men in guard armor sitting at one of the tables started to cheer for another song, the Argonian innkeeper only nodded with a smile from behind the bar. She looked over at Bishop, expecting to see him rolling his eyes in annoyance, but he still had his eyes fixed firmly on hers, a slight smile on his lips. _Seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love._ Aeyrin started to sing a tune of secret affection and hopeful yearning she learned from a travelling bardess in Cheydinhal.

…

The next day they led Karnwyr back to the Docks so he could enjoy the wilderness rather than being cooped up in the city with them before heading out to explore on their own.

The marketplace was much busier the next day, likely because they managed to get there early, without having to dry their clothes for hours.

Aeyrin wanted to see the temple of Mara and see what efforts they were exerting to help the people in Riften.

The city was very different from Whiterun – it was bleak and full of life at the same time. The poverty and sorrow apparent at every corner but the spirit of the people, trying to help themselves out of tough situations was prevalent.

Aeyrin stopped by the old man sitting on a filthy blanket near the markets, his eyes greyed and glassy from blindness and his hand outstretched pitifully.

Ignoring Bishop’s remarks about people too lazy to help themselves, she dropped a few coins to the man’s hand. They didn’t even make five steps, when a shaking hand tried to grab Aeyrin by the wrist weakly. She turned towards the perpetrator, to see an Argonian woman stand in front of her. She was young but the scales around her eyes were dark and she had a thin layer of blood just above her lower eyelids.

“Please, milady,” her voice trembling “I saw how generous you were.”

She shakily outstretched her hand, a pleading look in her eyes.

“See? You give something to one, they all stick to you like guar shit,” Bishop smirked meanly.

Aeyrin eyed the woman for a while. She recognized it all, the blood-shut eyes, the shaking, the raspy voice.

“Please… I had nothing to eat in three days.”

Probably true… but that wasn’t why she wanted her money.

Aeyrin leaned in, so that only the Argonian heard her: “I’ll give you more if you tell me where you get your stuff.”

The woman’s eyes went wide for a bit, both desperation and fear reflected in them: “I-I cannot. Please, milady.”

“Tell me!” Aeyrin screamed out suddenly, her tone surprisingly angry.

Bishop gave her a curious look, he didn’t hear what she whispered to the woman, but now it got interesting.

The Argonian cowered before her slightly, then whispered something back, her eyes darting back and forth, checking every dark corner around. Aeyrin only nodded and handed the woman a pouch of gold.

“Go buy some food and a healing potion. _Really_ ,” she gave her a meaningful look as the Argonian lowered her head and walked away as swiftly as her weak legs could carry her.

Bishop raised his eyebrow at her. “That was quite an outburst, coming from you,” he smirked. “What was that about?”

“Do you know some Sarthis Idren?”

He shook his head: “Most Dunmer here work at the meadery. Why? Who’s he?”

“He’s got a little business that needs shutting down,” Aeyrin frowned surprisingly hatefully.

She started to head towards the meadery briskly but Bishop grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks: “Princess, what did I tell you? Don’t mess with people here. It never ends well.”

She quickly snapped her arm from his grasp, her eyes full of fury.

“I don’t care. He dies.”

She turned on her heel and ran ahead. Bishop stood still a while, staggered by her sudden change in tune. What the fuck was she doing? He realized himself in a second, rushing after her before she got herself killed.

…

She stormed angrily from the meadery.

No one knew anything. Or they just wouldn’t tell her. She had to find that man.

Bishop sighed behind her. He got a bit worried about her demeanor, Riften wasn’t the place to play hero. He wondered who that man was – a killer, a slaver? Earning such anger from the woman who thought playing nice with everyone worked every time, it must have been quite the feat.

Aeyrin was looking around the marketplace furiously, apparently pondering who to question.

“Do you really need to know?” Bishop sighed again. It would be easier if he just found out, before she started to question everyone around. She could lose her nose or more if she didn’t stop sticking it into other people’s business.

“What do you think?!” she snapped at him immediately, still fuming.

“Careful, sweetness.” he raised his index finger at her, but started walking towards the northern city gates, his eyes set on a large black-haired Nord, clad in full ebony armor.

The man only nodded in greeting, a stony expression on his face.

Bishop sighed, fishing out a large coin purse.

“Sarthis Idren.”

The Nord eyed the coin for a while, then gave a deep scowl, snatching it away from Bishop.

“I hope for your sake that you’re buyers,” he snorted. “Southern warehouse at the docks. Password is ‘fleshfly’.”

The man turned away from them as Aeyrin looked up at Bishop. She smiled at him slightly but her angry scowl returned to her immediately as she started marching towards the dock.

“Fuck, sweetness, will you tell me what’s this about already?” Bishop yelled after her in frustration, quickly catching up.

“I told you, he dies,” she barked back, continuing in her angry strides without looking at him, determined to reach her target.

…

They reached the door to the aforementioned warehouse, Bishop barely managing to restrain Aeyrin before she kicked it open.

“For fuck’s sake, stop! Damn, woman!” Bishop grabbed her firmly around the shoulders, when she tried to get away, he pulled her back on his chest with force, the pack she had around her shoulder tumbling down on the pier with a loud crash. With her back pressed to him he enveloped her in a forceful hug.

“Let go!”

“No! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Before she managed to snap at him again, he interrupted her: “Fine, he dies. Do you even know how many people are in there? You don’t even have your armor on or your weapon out. Just calm the fuck down so we don’t get shot the second we enter that place!”

She slowly stopped struggling in his grasp and when he was sure she calmed down, he let go of her.

“Who is he?” he asked calmly.

“A skooma dealer,” she answered quickly, her eyes on the ground.

That was it?! A petty drug dealer?

He thought back on Aeyrin destroying the bottles back where they rescued Karnwyr – she seemed to have a serious problem with the stuff. Bishop didn’t really see the point in trying to make a dent in the skooma trade, you get rid of one supplier and two more emerge. And it was probably a really bad idea to mess with the trade in Riften, who knows how many people take cut from it.

But it seemed like there was no dissuading her.

“Fine. Do you know how many people are there?” he asked running his hand over his face in resignation.

She only shook her head, her eyes still pinned to the ground like a pouting child.

“We know the password; we could go in, pretending to be buyers, then attack. But they probably won’t let us in armed...” Bishop pondered.

He looked her over, still staring at the ground, her eyes glittering with barely contained anger. He didn’t think he’d ever see her like that, all the politeness and moderation gone in a flash.

“Get your armor,” he sighed, fishing in his own pack for his leathers. “We give the password and attack when the door opens. It’s the only way to surprise them.”

Aeyrin looked up into his eyes, she seemed almost grateful. She quickly started to put on her armor and preparing both her shield and mace. She positioned herself in front of the door, her shield at the ready for a charge. Bishop drew his bow behind her, nodding in affirmation.

She knocked.

After a while a deep voice came from behind the door: “Yeah?”

“Fleshfly,” Aeyrin answered, bracing herself.

Just as the door swung open, she charged at the burly Nord behind them, bashing him with her shield, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Bishop aimed immediately at the man visible at the back of the room, standing there in shock from the intrusion. Arrow swished above Aeyrin’s head right as she heard the familiar sound of cracking bones under her mace.

She quickly ran further in.

As she got away from the long doorway, looking about, she was caught off guard by a heavy blow to her flank.

The hit landed on the part of her torso only covered by the underchain, sending her toppling all the way to the corner of the room.

The Dark Elf swiftly covered the distance and planted his heavily armored leg on her chest, pinning her to the ground. She reached for her mace, laying a hair’s breath away from her fingers and grabbed at his leg with her other hand.

He reacted fast, stomping his other foot on the hand reaching for the weapon.

A sickening crack of bones, this time hers, sounded through the room as she cried out in the searing pain coursing through her, losing her grip on the man’s leg on her chest.

Bishop rushed in and quickly aimed at the man – his head, his back, his legs, all were covered in thick layer of armor. He let the arrow loose, knowing it wouldn’t do any real damage like this at the short distance, but he hoped to get his attention as the elf raised his giant warhammer above Aeyrin’s head.

The arrow clunk at the man’s plate, not even scratching the surface, he didn’t even acknowledge it. Bishop knew there was only a split second to think.

He dropped his bow and charged at the man, it was gonna be rough but he needed to get him away from Aeyrin before he bashed her skull in.

“FUS!”

The loud roar sounded through the air.

Something threw him away, all the way across the room.

He landed against the wall, falling head-first to the ground right after, a dull pain spreading through his entire body, his head throbbing uncontrollably. He was sure the impact broke some bones.

He looked up wearily, seeing the elf in all his armor lying on the ground, groaning in pain.

Aeyrin was only a short distance away from him, curled in a ball, clutching her arm with a pained expression on her face and eyes shut firmly.

The elf was still alive.

Bishop quickly tried to get up. Bad idea. His leg flared up with pain, eliciting a loud groan from him. Well… since he couldn’t walk...

He started to crawl towards the skooma dealer.

A quick look around the room – no one else around, no basements, no hidden rooms, good.

He reached the groaning man, blood dripping from under his helm. Bishop quickly reached for his hunting knife in the sheath on his belt, slitting the man’s throat in a fluid motion, blood spraying over his face and armor.

He crawled the last stone’s throw towards her, looking over the damage. He couldn’t see anything as she was all bundled up in a ball, but he did notice a lot of blood seeping from the arm she was clutching fiercely, her hand flaring up with magic, but likely in vain.

Her eyes were stained with tears; he managed to raise his hand towards her face and place his palm on her cheek, lightly stoking the tears away. She opened her eyes at last, a deep frown forming her face.

“I’m so sorry, Bishop,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what else to do… I couldn’t… I couldn’t control it…”

She cried out again as she clutched her hand even more fiercely, shutting her eyes again tightly. She managed to open them again after a while, looking down at his blood-covered body.

“How… how bad?” she sobbed.

“I’m fine, princess,” he chuckled at her weakly. “It’s not my blood.”

She shook her head determinedly: “I heard you groaning, you’re hurt.”

“Just some cracked bones. Don’t worry, sweetness,” he smiled at her gently. He would have expected himself to get mad at the situation she got them in. Not for Shouting – that was understandable, her life was in danger, but the fact that she so stubbornly insisted on attacking the warehouse when they had no idea what they were getting into. Seeing her like that though… he just couldn’t bring himself to be angry. He just wanted her to stop crying.

“Show me,” he gestured to her arm.

She looked down, tears still streaming from her face while she hesitated.

She let go of her arm with a pained sob, slowly holding it out. On the underside of her forearm, where only the blood-stained chain covered her, a protrusion was visible, pitching up the chainmail lightly.

“Just some cracked bones,” she smiled weakly, holding back another pained sob.

Bishop looked around, spotting her pack splayed on the ground not far from them. He reached out for it with a pained grunt – apparently his back wasn’t in the best shape either. He fished around for a while, producing two healing potions, kicking himself that he didn’t buy some quality ones from the alchemist, rather than Grelka’s shitty ones. It would help with the pain for a while but it seemed they both needed some experienced clerical work.

Aeyrin sat up carefully to drink the potion, hissing at the movement and clutching her lower ribs, likely also damaged from the fight.

Bishop straightened too, the potion letting him move without the pain in the back at least, but he would likely not be able to stand on the leg.

“Fuck, princess, remind me not to get in a shouting match with you,” he groaned.

Aeyrin gave him a miserable look instead of chuckling at his joke. “I’m really sorry,” she said again quietly.

He gave her a smirk as she finally managed to stand up: “I’ll live. Better than you having your skull bashed in.”

She shivered lightly, slowly moving across the room.

There were some documents on the table but she only scanned them quickly, they needed to get help as soon as possible. She grabbed them and stuffed them into her pack, determined to see if there was anything useful later.

She peeked inside one of the crates that were filling one corner of the room. Skooma, of course. She wondered how best to get rid of it.

Shouting at it again occurred to her, but that thought immediately filled her with a sense of dread, especially after what happened few minutes ago.

Back when she was standing by the watchtower, watching the scorched ground get flattened by the force of the Shout, she thought to herself that no one should wield such unpredictable power. She wasn’t even certain what that Shout did. There was a force and suddenly, everything in its path was destroyed.

And now she used it again.

She knew that Bishop was there, she saw him behind her attacker, but she panicked and her instincts took over. She unleashed that power against a person she cared about. She didn’t know what would happen. She could have killed him.

She took her shield and started to press it against the contents of the crate, listening to the shattering of glass and watching the odorless liquid seep through the wood.

She repeated the process for all the present crates, turning back to Bishop when she was finally done.

He was leaning on the wall with his side, one of his legs hanging limply.

Aeyrin went over to him, grabbing his pack by the entryway and adding it to hers on her straining back. Breathing was becoming a bit harder with the pressure on her ribs too.

She arranged herself under his shoulder, stretching her healthy arm across his waist, supporting his weight as they made their way slowly towards the exit.

…

As they exited the warehouse, their eyes immediately fell on two people waiting for them patiently.

One was a Nord woman, tall and lean, with platinum hair framing her beautiful face. The other was an Imperial man, his dark hair fastened in a short ponytail, his muscular arms folded across his chest. Both of them were dressed in a tight brown and black leather armor with lots of buckles, pockets and pouches decorating it.

“Bishop?” the woman raised her eyebrow. “We heard you’re back.”

“Interesting company you keep,” the Imperial man smirked, looking at Aeyrin with curiosity.

Bishop grunted, half in pain, half in exasperation: “What do you want?”

“We heard a… noise,” the woman smirked, looking pointedly at Aeyrin. “As concerned citizens, we came to investigate.”

“Right… concerned citizens…” Bishop scoffed with another groan.

“Maybe you would… help us get to the temple,” Aeyrin gave them a hopeful look, struggling to support both Bishop and all their equipment.

“That depends,” the man answered with a friendly smile. “How would you repay us I wonder?”

“No!” Bishop growled. “No favors. We’ll manage.”

Aeyrin gave him an uncertain look, but he knew these people, so she decided to trust his judgement, thought getting to the temple _would_ be trying.

“We’ll see,” the woman smirked. “In the meantime… we have some things to share with our friends,” she winked at them as both her and the Imperial man walked away.

“Fuck,” Bishop muttered under his breath. Not only did the Guild now know that they were the ones to take down the dealer, they also knew that Aeyrin was the Dragonborn. Who knows what sick schemes Frey would want to use her for.

At least they didn’t owe them any favors… yet.

Aeyrin took a deep breath, or at least as deep as she managed before a sting of pain in her ribs stopped her.

She braced herself for an arduous journey and started to lead the limping Bishop towards the temple.


	14. Decent Proposals

_ Author’s note: _

_Shout-out to very fun Reddit posts ‘Tamrielic Insults, Curses, Cusses and Name-Calling’. In case you were wondering where I got some of the insults in the following chapter and some chapters after that._

* * *

They had to spend a whole day recovering in the temple after their ordeal.

At first, they took Aeyrin into separate room – apparently re-aligning an open bone fracture was an arduous task, even for a seasoned healer.

Bishop lied on a burlap cot, listening to her cries of pain echo through the walls. It must have been a nice enlivenment for the commoners praying at the altars nearby.

A priestess came in, noticing his tense expression.

“Your lady will be fine,” she put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “It’s just a bit of a process, but she’ll heal in time.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just get on with it,” he grumbled at the woman.

The strain of dragging him to town must have made Aeyrin’s injuries even worse. Luckily the blacksmith came to help before she collapsed under his weight. Still she was a damn lot stronger than she looked – she had to be, dragging all that heavy armor and still being able to swing a mace with force and speed.

He was never able to wear heavy armor, he felt like he was dragging a private metal prison around. It was pretty impressive that she managed to fight so well in it.

Although it did hide too much of her – he preferred her in those close-fitting clothes, especially when they were all wet and see-through.

He smirked to himself. He did find himself thinking about her more and more often lately.

He wasn’t going to make his move again though, not until he was sure she wanted him too. They had a good thing going – a steady income of gold and challenging battles with something to look at to boot. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t about to fuck it all up. It wasn’t as if she could resist him forever anyways. He had pretty strong suspicions that she wanted him too already, but he was willing to put in the time to make sure.

…

After a long day and night of being watched and tended by the priests, they finally got out of the temple.

Bishop went ahead to the alchemist to buy some proper healing potions while Aeyrin stayed back, talking to one of the priests about the temple’s activities in Riften. The priest – Maramal – gave her an amulet as they parted ways – a beautifully crafted wooden ornament with an aquamarine gem in the middle – the symbol of Mara.

Aeyrin placed it around her neck, the talisman nestled just above her breasts. It was beautiful and it didn’t even clash with the much longer necklace with Stendarr’s symbol she got from Bishop after their first adventure together.

Bishop was still at the alchemist shop so she headed over to the blacksmith.

“Morning, lass. Good to see you up and about,” he nodded towards her absentmindedly, hammering into a heated piece of metal.

“Morning, Balimund,” she gave him a warm smile. “I just wanted to thank you for helping us get to the temple yesterday,” she pulled out a pouch of coins with a jingle.

Balimund put away his work for a while, turning to her. His eyes rested above her breasts on the amulet with a strangely surprised expression. He looked up into her eyes after a while, a warm smile spreading on his face.

“Ah, keep your gold, dear. I couldn’t help but notice…” he cleared his throat nervously; Aeyrin could have sworn there was a light blush on the burly Nord’s cheeks.

“How about we share a drink at The Bee and Barb tonight instead?” he gave her another warm smile.

“Sure,” Aeyrin nodded, putting away her coin, a little baffled by the smith’s sudden trepidation.

“My treat then,” she added with a smile, turning away from him and heading towards the alchemist to find Bishop.

“Greedy son-of-a-…” Bishop was muttering as he exited the shop, stashing four healing potions into his pack.

He wasn’t able to get the price down on them so they would have to make do with only four. It was lucky that Aeyrin could do some healing magic but it was never enough for the more serious injuries.

He spotted her walking towards him on the wooden steps to the lower levels by the river.

As he closed the gap between them, his eyes immediately fell on the large amulet around her neck.

Was that an amulet of Mara? What was that supposed to mean? Did she wear it for him? Was that supposed to tell him that she was… interested? Or was that supposed to tell him that she won’t be interested unless he swears off his life for her in front of some priest? No… that would be weird and… kind of presumptuous, even with her upbringing, wouldn’t it?

“What’s that about?” he frowned, trying to decipher her intentions.

“Oh. It’s an amulet to honor Mara, the priest gave it to me. Doesn’t it look pretty?” she smiled up at him.

Did she not know? Of course she didn’t. That made the most sense. This was gonna be fun…

“Sure, princess. Pretty,” he gave her a smirk.

They passed a guard who mumbled something about ‘tree-huggers infesting Skyrim’ giving Aeyrin a disdainful look.

They headed to the docks for Karnwyr; he missed all the action in the dealer’s den and they spent the entire next day in the temple – he must have been worried. When they didn’t find him anywhere at the docks, Bishop pondered that he may have actually snuck into the city with someone else, looking for them. If not, it was likely that he was still in the woods. Just in case though, they headed towards Mistveil Keep to look in the surrounding backyards and cemetery.

Just as Bishop thought, they soon heard the familiar noises.

They followed the barking sound towards a gated yard, where Karnwyr was jumping excitedly, poking his muzzle between the bars. A large Nord in heavy armor was laughing on the other side of the gate, throwing a pine cone up and down, teasing Karnwyr.

“Looks like he made a friend,” Aeyrin smirked.

“For fuck’s sake he’s acting like some pup. It’s your damn fault, you know. Not enough throats for him to gnaw at with you hogging the front line. And you spoil him.” Bishop frowned but the corner of his mouth quirked up.

When Karnwyr spotted the two, he ran excitedly towards them nuzzling both their legs in turn.

“That your wolf?” the Nord called out from behind the gate, approaching them.

“Yeah,” Bishop nodded curtly.

The Nord leaned on the stone wall by the gate, looking them over: “Never seen one this friendly.”

His eyes then rested on Aeyrin’s amulet, looking her over once more, now slower.

“Hey,” He gave her a lopsided grin, while Bishop snorted in amusement.

“Hi,” she smiled at him, scratching Karnwyr behind his ear. “What are you guarding?” she asked.

“An important man’s estate,” he puffed up his chest “It’s a tough job. He couldn’t trust anyone else but me with it.”

Aeyrin smiled politely at him in response.

“You know, it’s a damn pretty estate. Lots of expensive things. I can’t let anyone inside. But the garden’s nice, if you’d like to see it,” he winked at her, a sly grin on his face.

“What for?” Bishop snickered, watching the situation unfold with interest. He was really curious how long it will take her to get the hint.

“There’s lots of fun things two people can do there,” he smiled again.

“There are three of us,” Aeyrin chuckled a bit, peering through the bars of the gate to catch a glimpse of the promised garden.

“I don’t think I’m invited, princess,” Bishop smirked. Did she seriously not get it yet?

The Nord chuckled uncomfortably: “Yeah, that’s not… I’m not interested in… _that_.”

Bishop roared with laughter at his reaction while Aeyrin finally figured out what he was suggesting, blushing fiercely.

“Oh… I’m… umm… whose estate is this anyways?” she asked hopefully, trying to change the subject quickly.

“A dangerous man. Not one to piss off. Mercer Frey,” he said that name as if she was supposed to know it.

Bishop’s amused grin disappeared right away. He grabbed Aeyrin by her arm, earning a light hiss from her as it was still a bit sore from her wound.

“We’re leaving!” he proclaimed hurriedly, dragging her away from the confused Nord.

“What’s going on? Who is that man?” she questioned his as they walked back towards the marketplace.

“A fucking asshole you don’t want to cross paths with. Believe me,” he grumbled. It was bad enough that Frey knew about her by now, any more provocation would just make shit worse. It would be best if they left the city soon.

“All the people around here you know, they’re from the Guild?” she asked as they walked back towards the inn.

“Yeah, mostly. Some of them were alright, I guess, but it’s better to avoid any of them just in case,” Bishop nodded.

“In case what?” she asked, hoping to coax him into revealing more about his time in Riften.

“In case one of the not-so-nice ones takes an interest in you,” he scowled, making his reluctance to explain further clear.

“Wow!” a voice suddenly interrupted them.

A Breton and an Imperial in guard armors interrupted them, approaching excitedly.

“You’re the one who sang at the tavern few nights ago,” the Breton gave Aeyrin a wide smile, filled with admiration.

Aeyrin nodded, blushing slightly. People liked her singing well enough but no one actually approached her about it. She assumed most people forgot about her performances right after they ended. It was still a pleasant way to earn money and explore Dibella’s teachings in her own way. She recognized the men as the two that encouraged her to play longer.

“Is that an… You’re actually looking?” the Imperial gasped in astonishment as Bishop’s amused chuckle sounded behind her again.

“Looking?” she asked, confused.

The Breton eagerly puffed up his chest, pushing his comrade lightly out of the way. “You know, the guards here are compensated really nicely. I could buy all the jewelry in the market without so much as a blink,” he proclaimed proudly.

Aeyrin stared at him, getting more and more confused. Good for him, but why was he bragging to her? And besides, if he had that much money to throw away, likely from extortion rackets, he could at least help the beggars in the city.

“Oh please, he spends everything at the Bee, drinking himself stupid. I am much more responsible. I was even thinking on buying a horse, take someone special on a ride through the forests,” the Imperial gave her a wink. The conversation was getting stranger and stranger.

“You?! In the forests? The first bear that appears, you’re gonna piss yourself. Once we did a raid on these skeever-scats nearby, robbing our people, he ran away crying after only a few minutes, I swear,” the Breton smirked, giving his compatriot a mocking grin.

“How long did it take you to run off, huh?! Look don’t listen to him,” the Imperial gave Aeyrin a warm smile as she still stared at them in utter confusion. “How about you get to know me yourself? We could go to the watchtower, there’s no one there right now.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you’re supposed to be there on duty, you tit,” the Breton laughed.

“I don’t see you working either, half-elf!”

“I am working, I’m making sure the pretty lady isn’t bothered by vagrants like you. And call me that again and you’ll be floating face-first in the river, horker-brain!” the men turned their attention away from Aeyrin, glowering at each other furiously, trading insults and even pushing each other.

Bishop was convulsing with laughter nearby, while Aeyrin was trying to figure out why everyone was being so strange around her.

“Stop! Please,” she yelled, stepping between the two men before it came to blows.

“He doesn’t deserve a lady like you!” the Imperial scowled at him.

“No! I’d be much better for you than him!” the Breton cried out in return.

“What? I don’t even know you two!” Aeyrin looked at them with a shocked expression, blushing deeply at their forwardness.

“Of course, we’ll get to know each other better, don’t you worry,” the Imperial winked flirtatiously, earning a stumped stare from her.

“I doubt it, I hear he needs a special potion to stand at attention!” the Breton laughed maliciously as Bishop let out another roar of laugher nearby.

“You’re dead!” the Imperial yelled, trying to get past Aeyrin to lunge at the Breton.

“Stop! I don’t… I’m not… I’m not interested in either of you,” Aeyrin stuttered nervously, wondering how the whole situation escalated so quickly.

“What’s that mean?! We not good enough for you?!” the Imperial barked, still riled up from before

“Yeah, you think you can do better?!” the Breton joined in and directed his anger towards her suddenly.

“No! I’m not interested in… anyone!” she flushed briefly as she paused before the word. That wasn’t strictly true, but she was not going to get into _that_.

“Liar! Why tease with that amulet then?!”

The amulet? Aeyrin looked down at herself, examining her new talisman of Mara. Why would that ‘tease’ anyone?

“What are you talking about?” she looked at them in confusion.

The Imperial let out an annoyed sigh, shaking his head at the Breton. “Foreigners…” he mumbled as they both simply turned on their heel, leaving Aeyrin behind with no answers.

Bishop was still chuckling when the guards were long gone as Aeyrin turned to him.

“Fuck, that got more heated than I thought. You’re a little heartbreaker aren’t you?” he laughed again.

“What? I don’t… what even happened?” Aeyrin asked in exasperation.

Bishop closed the gap between them, taking the amulet in his palm, the back of his hand brushing against her bare skin.

“It’s some stupid Skyrim tradition. Wearing it means that you’re looking for someone to bend you over a barrel,” he smirked.

“What?!” Aeyrin snatched the amulet from his hand, looking at it warily.

“Or was it someone to marry you? I can’t remember which,” he laughed as her blush deepened. “Point is, guys get real excited when a girl as pretty as you wears it,.” he winked at her as she still studied the necklace critically.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! You even asked about it!” she pouted at him.

“Come on, and miss all that?” he laughed nodding in the direction the two guards walked away.

“Ass!” Aeyrin shook her head and punched him playfully in the chest. She unclasped the amulet hurriedly, but paused before stashing it in her pack.

“So… if I actually want to… if I’m interested in someone, I should…?” she stuttered, looking at him bashfully.

He shook his head, looking over her blushing cheeks, his expression showing a hint of fondness.

“You don’t need a fucking trinket for anything. Most people who resort to that are pretty desperate,” he shrugged.

He leaned in closer a smirk on his face: “Besides, if you’re interested in someone, I know ways to get their attention which are much more fun...” he brushed some strands of hair back from her shoulder, giving her a suggestive wink before he started walking towards the tavern.

…

Balimund was a bit surprised to see Bishop there when he came to meet Aeyrin at the inn.

She explained what happened nervously and after some awkward apologies, he just laughed the situation off. They all shared a couple of drinks together before Balimund went back to his house.

Aeyrin made sure to pinpoint all the new destinations she wanted to visit on her map, especially the den of skooma smugglers she learned about in the Dunmer dealer’s notes.

They agreed to leave the city in the morning and Bishop was not only excited to get back to the wilderness, but especially relieved to be leaving before the Guild sunk their claws into them.


	15. A Shield-Brother’s Offer

They left early in the morning, heading north towards the small mining village of Shor’s Stone.

Aeyrin noticed how much more at ease Bishop was in the forest. In Riften, he seemed to look around swiftly every so often like he was expecting someone to jump them. She wondered about his past with the Guild. Something bad must have happened – since he was constantly trying to avoid them and he was unwilling to tell her about working for them in the first place. She knew better than to force the information out of him. His past was his to carry after all and hopefully, he knew he could confide in her. Then again he did not seem the type to ever confide in anyone.

They stopped by the mining village for a while, helping the locals clear the mine of a spider infestation.

They headed towards the skooma den, Aeyrin getting antsier by the minute. Bishop tried asking her what was her issue with skooma traders, but she brushed him off every time he broached the subject.

…

The mining village was barely out of their sight when a tremor shook the ground beneath them and trees rustled loudly some distance away in the forest.

Karnwyr gave out a low whine, sniffing around in the direction of the noise.

“A giant?” Aeyrin looked curiously at the wolf, but he seemed lost in his investigation, slowly walking prowling towards the disturbance, his nose to the ground.

“He knows to stay away from giants, must be something else,” Bishop narrowed his eyes, pulling out his bow, following Karnwyr stealthily. Aeyrin walked some distance behind, letting them lead – this way whatever it was wouldn’t see them. She really wasn’t much for sneaking about, especially with all her heavy equipment.

The loud rustling and snapping of branches sounded through the area again and Bishop only managed to catch a slight silvery glint behind the canopy before the beast heaved, soaring into the sky with enormous speed.

“Shit!” he cried out as the dragon flew above them, roaring when its eyes targeted their group.

Their stealthy approach did not count on an enemy that could fly.

Bishop quickly aimed his bow at the beast. Aeyrin readied herself, trying to get its attention, but the dragon was adamantly focusing on Bishop.

The first arrow missed, as the dragon started to circle around unexpectedly.

It stopped mid-air, heaving again, its maw opening and a white-blue light could be seen forming at the back of its throat.

Bishop jumped out of the way only barely, the icy spree hitting him in the foot, freezing his toes solid.

“Get down you stupid beast!” Aeyrin called out, grabbing a nearby rock and throwing it at the dragon. It hit its tail lightly, not really doing any damage whatsoever, but the monster turned its head to investigate the source of the attack.

In that moment an arrow hit its underbelly, followed quickly by another. The dragons roared in anger, lunging towards the ground, head-first. Bishop ran as fast as he could, the frozen foot making his run strangely wobbly, but he managed to get out of the monster’s trajectory, as it plummeted to the ground, crushing nearby trees and shrubbery underneath it.

Aeyrin charged, running towards its head, smashing it swiftly with her shield, followed by a mace blow to its maw.

Aeyrin raised her mace to strike again but the beast’s roar made her stagger.

There were voices in the distance, but the dragon drowned out much of that noise.

Bishop managed to get his bearings and started piercing the beast’s back full with arrows, when he noticed two men running towards them out of the corner of his eye.

Aeyrin got to bash the dragon’s maw again before the beast managed to stand up on its legs, roaring furiously again. The back of its throat lit up once more right in front of her, but its concentration got interrupted when someone pierced its scaly flank with a claymore.

A man ran towards Aeyrin, nodding at her with determination; she could have sworn she’d seen him before.

He started hacking at the beast’s face, a battleaxe in each hand. Aeyrin joined him in the assault, not giving the beast even a chance to roar.

Bishop aimed at the head too as the other warrior pierced its flesh with his weapon several more times.

Soon enough the spasms of the dragon’s body subsided as it let out its last heavy breath.

They all breathed heavily from the effort.

Aeyrin watched the creature warily, backing away slowly, bracing herself for what was to come while the warriors watched the dragon, looking at the first flickers of light on its scales curiously.

Aeyrin startled when her back hit something in her retreat, she looked back to see Bishop, grasping her tightly by the shoulders, giving her a reassuring nod. She took a deep breath and looked back at the corpse.

It looked different than the last time. Instead of igniting, the white and gold light traveling all across the beast’s body got surrounded by a white fog and ice-blue crystals.

Aeyrin pressed her back closer to Bishop, closing her eyes as the dragon’s skeleton revealed itself gradually. She hoped maybe it would be better if she didn’t see it coming, but deep down she knew it was vain hope.

The light burst forth, aiming at her, eliciting a stunned stare from the two warriors.

Aeyrin shrieked as the light enveloped her, sinking into Bishop’s arms.

This time there was no heat, only deep penetrating cold. It was seeping into every part of her, she felt her blood freeze over drop by drop as the familiar feeling came over her – the need to beat this. Her whole body started to shiver uncontrollably, her skin pale and lips turning blue. She felt every inch of her skin crackle as if trying to break through a layer of ice. Her ears felt clogged, creating a strange dizziness in her head and filling her senses with the sound of crepitating snow. She couldn’t move a single muscle nor open her eyes voluntarily – she felt stuck in a block of ice, yet her body shivered despite that. It lasted for so long, like time itself was frozen solid, just like her.

“Are you sure, she’s alright?” she heard a deep voice ask uncertainly.

“She’s fine,” Bishop’s growl came out just above her head.

She slowly started to recognize the sensations around her. She was still trembling, balled up in Bishop’s embrace with her head nestled under his chin. She groaned lightly opening her eyes slowly; it felt like her lashes were frozen together.

She felt Bishop pull back a little, studying her face. He stroked over her cheek for a while as she tried to stop her whole body from shivering, but she was still too cold.

“You alright?” he asked her, still studying her face.

She nodded, untangling herself from him.

Only then she noticed the two warriors watching them. They wore the black armor of the Companions – in fact, she’s already seen them… well, one of them. They looked very similar, both large Nord men with dark hair. The only differences were that one had his hair fastened in a ponytail and the other had it lightly braided with the rest of the locks hanging loosely on his shoulders. Their war paint also had a slightly different pattern.

“You’re certainly more interesting than you seemed, pup,” the braided man smirked – it was the one she already met near Whiterun.

“Never thought to kill a dragon alongside a real Dragonborn,” the one with the ponytail smiled at her. “Was that how you absorb the soul? It looked painful,” he added with a frown.

“No, she just likes to make a show of it, ice-brain,” Bishop rolled his eyes at him as he got up from the ground.

The braided man snickered: “I am Vilkas and this is my brother Farkas. We have met before, if you recall. We are members of the Companions.”

“We heard the dragon from nearby, on our hunt, we couldn’t miss that fight,” Farkas nodded proudly.

“You two are capable warriors. You barely needed our help with the beast,” Vilkas added approvingly, looking them both over once again more appraisingly. “We have invited you to Jorrvaskr before, but I will make the gesture again. You are welcome to visit the next time you are in Whiterun, you just might find you would fit in. Both of you,” he nodded towards Bishop.

“I’ll pass,” he grumbled. He never trusted their lot. There was something odd about them, but maybe he was just too influenced by Karnwyr’s reaction to the warriors.

“There is no harm in talking is there? We will be awaiting you,” Vilkas smiled again, but before they turned to leave a feral growl echoed behind them.

Both warriors pulled out their weapons when they spotted Karnwyr preparing to pounce.

“NO!” Bishop and Aeyrin yelled out almost in unison.

Aeyrin ran towards the wolf, both to hold him back and to shield him from the men while Bishop aimed his bow at them at lightning speed.

Karnwyr growled menacingly but luckily didn’t move away from Aeyrin.

“You touch that wolf, you’re dead.” Bishop hissed at them.

The warriors looked at the three of them curiously for a while.

“This animal listens to you,” Vilkas said ponderingly, rubbing his fingers over his chin.

“You cannot tame a wolf!” Farkas snorted derisively, watching Karnwyr with suspicion in his eyes, as if attempting to figure out what was different about him.

“If he was tame, he wouldn’t be trying to rip your throat out just now,” Bishop narrowed his eyes, still aiming his bow at them while Karnwyr barked furiously.

“We will go. Keep your wolf at bay,” Vilkas nodded after a while. “And remember our offer.”

The brothers sheathed their weapons and walked away, at times looking back at them, making sure the wolf didn’t follow.

…

When they were far enough and Karnwyr calmed down, Bishop approached Aeyrin again, looking her over, feeling her forehead with his hand. She was still so unnaturally pale.

“Fuck, you’re still freezing,” he shook his head disapprovingly. “We should get a fire going, thaw you out a bit.”

She nodded at him, hugging herself with her arms to warm up at least a little.

They walked a bit further north, hiding themselves in the forest, away from the very conspicuous dragon skeleton.

Soon enough the fire was roaring.

Both Aeyrin and Karnwyr stretched out near its heat, warming themselves by the flames, while Bishop worked on making something to eat.

“Those Companions really get him riled up,” Aeyrin ruffled Karnwyr’s fur, “I wonder why.”

“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong about them,” Bishop shrugged. “I really hope you’re not planning on joining them,” he narrowed his eyes.

“Why not? They seem to be helping around Skyrim. There’s no harm in hearing them out.” she mused, covering herself with a blanket to warm up some more.

“Well for one, Karnwyr might attack you,” he smirked.

She shook her head with a smile. She felt so tired. Absorbing the soul made her exhausted last time too, but it probably wasn’t just that. Despite what the Companions said, they were lucky they came to their help. Just one attack from the dragon that actually hit one of them fully and they’d be both dead. There was no way they could ever face such a beast just the two of them.

She looked at Bishop again, the light of the fire reflected in his amber eyes and giving his hair a honey-gold hue.

She smiled at the sight.

Every time she needed support, when she needed to ease her pain, he was there for her, watching out for her, calming her, even before, when they barely knew each other.

He was there the first time she felt that horrible pain from the dragon’s soul, he was there after she found out what she was. He was there in the warehouse, even after she sent him flying across the room.

And he was there now.

She was so scared of what was to come again, scared that she wouldn’t make it this time, that the pain would consume her. But when she felt him hold her, she suddenly knew that she would survive, that the pain would pass again.

The doubts she still at times had seemed to slowly become more and more petty and unfounded. She _could_ trust him, couldn’t she? 

…

They spent the evening resting and recuperating, heading back towards the dealers’ den quite some time before the dawn, hoping that some of the men would be asleep.

This time they had no idea how many to expect.

Bishop scouted the location but there wasn’t even anyone on guard outside.

He was still somewhat disgruntled at Aeyrin’s insistence to clear the place out. It was so pointless. But she wouldn’t budge when it came to the dealers, getting that angry glint in her eyes again. Well, it wasn’t as if they never entered uncharted territory before.

They entered the cavern carefully, not knowing what to expect.

Bishop took the lead, sticking to the shadows and signaling Aeyrin when the way was clear.

It took some time walking through narrow cavern before they reached the inhabitants.


	16. Family Matters

Bishop took out the lone sentry, an arrow piercing the man’s head without as much as a sound.

They continued along the way, reaching a larger room.

Seven men were sitting at the table, counting coin and packaging moon sugar.

There were three others nearby on the ground, unarmed, lying motionlessly, groaning in their delirium.

Bishop took out one of the men at the table, managing to shoot another one before they realized what happened. Aeyrin charged forward bashing her shield and swinging her mace at anyone in sight while Bishop covered her back. Karnwyr joined the fight alongside them, lunging at the remaining men swarming Aeyrin, biting down into their legs or even throats when he got to them.

The three men on the ground didn’t even move, they groaned or blubbered some nonsense every so often, not minding the heated battle taking place a stone’s throw away.

All three of them got out of the battle with barely a scratch. Bishop pointed his bow at the three delirious men on the ground but Aeyrin shook her head at him, touching his arm lightly to make him lower his bow.

“You know they’re in on the operation too,” he smirked.

“They’re sick,” she said sadly, looking over the men, lost in their own minds, oblivious to everything happening around them. She saw that one too many times before.

“They’re not sick, princess, they’re weak-willed idiots. A child knows what that shit does to you. It’s their own damn fault,” he pulled his bow up again determinedly, but he still didn’t shoot, as if waiting for her consent.

“That doesn’t mean they deserve to die for that mistake,”

“We’d be doing them a favor,” he snorted derisively, looking at the men in disgust.

“Please don’t,” she said quietly.

Bishop paused at the increasingly sad tone of her voice. She was looking down at her feet woefully, either trying to hide her expression from him or trying to avoid looking at the three men.

“Princess,” he sighed, “what do you think will happen to them out here? They’re either gonna overdose from all the sugar here, or if you destroy everything again, they’ll starve or die out in the wilderness. There’s no way this ends well. It will be long and painful in any case.”

“We can tell someone in Riften that they’re here, they might have families or…”

Bishop shook his head in frustration.

“People like that don’t have families,” he snorted again, but looking over her expression, he just sighed and motioned for her to move on further into the cavern. What did he care about those lowlifes anyways?

They continued on, leaving the three men behind, Aeyrin vowing to herself that she will destroy the drugs in that room on their way back.

They reached an even larger room, but it looked like the last one. There were no other entry points outright visible.

Bishop looked over the room carefully, hidden in the shadows. There were at least twenty men, all up and about. Some of them were eating at a table, some were moving things in and out of crates, the others walked around, talking, laughing and drinking. All armed and armored, ready for any attacks.

He scoured the place with his eyes, there was no way he could get to a vantage point from where he was and there were so many enemies around.

This would get ugly.

There was no way to attack any of them without alerting all, so they needed to use every weapon in their arsenal.

“Princess,” he whispered, “we need to catch them off guard. A lot.”

Aeyrin cringed at the thought. She didn’t want to use that power… especially after, what happened last time. If there was even a slight chance she would hurt Bishop again, or Karnwyr… the strange force was too unpredictable, but then again, there were so many people in that room…

“You might as well use it. You sure suffer for it enough,” he shrugged. He knew she was apprehensive, but what harm could it do if he and Karnwyr stayed out of the way… unless it could cause a cave-in or something… he probably shouldn’t mention _that_ to her.

Aeyrin sighed but she nodded in agreement. These men needed to be stopped and if this was what it took, so be it. Bishop was right, they needed to surprise them, otherwise they would never stand a chance against such numbers.

She told Bishop and Karnwyr to stay back until it was done and charged as fast as she could towards the largest crowd of their enemies.

“FUS!”

The Shout rumbled through the chamber as all the men in front of her flew all over the cavern. It was a rather terrifying sight, but it wasn’t as if these people didn’t deserve everything they got.

Karnwyr ran towards her immediately and Bishop didn’t wait either, thinning the ranks of the scum charging her with madness in their eyes.

One of the men managed to hit Karnwyr with his mace pinning him to the ground, eliciting a painful whine from him.

An arrow flew through the man’s his head immediately in retaliation, but the wolf did not get up again. Bishop focused his eyes, breathing out a bit in relief when he noticed his friend breathing, but he was likely too wounded to fight on.

Aeyrin turned quickly to check on Karnwyr after she heard the low whine he let out when he got hit, but she got immediately snatched back into battle by a Khajiit whose claws scratched maliciously across her face and neck, only barely missing her eye.

She swung her mace towards the man’s torso, denting his plate armor with the blow.

Two other attackers managed to swarm her in the meantime, a Redguard woman, sneaking up on her and grabbing her in a chokehold and a large Orc, preparing to impale the exposed woman on his sword. The Orc didn’t quite know how to thrust his large weapon into her without killing his compatriot while Aeyrin was struggling with all her might to escape her grasp.

As the Khajiit fell with an arrow through his neck, the Orc decided for a different approach, turning over his sword-wielding hand and hitting the side of Aeyrin’s head with the pommel of his weapon.

The Redguard let go of her and Aeyrin fell to the ground hard, the whole world spinning around her, her vision blurry and doubled.

The Orc finally had a clear shot at her as she was pulling herself on all fours, trying to get her bearings.

The Orc heaved, raising his weapon, but was hit with an arrow right through his eye just in time. The Redguard woman barely yelped out in shock before another arrow swished from the darkness right in her chest.

Bishop checked the room with his eyes hastily.

Everyone was down. They needed to check if they were dead soon.

He ran over to Karnwyr and Aeyrin, both on the ground and both breathing heavily. He fished out a healing potion for Aeyrin first, sitting her upright and helping to hold it up to her lips, as her coordination seemed completely off. She almost fell over, but he managed to hold her up with one hand while making her drink with the other. After a few seconds the color started to return to her, her face still scratched deeply and stained with blood, but the effects of her concussion hopefully subsiding at least a little.

She crawled over to Karnwyr quickly, running her healing hands over his back. She had to start over several times as her concentration was fought by her wooziness, but eventually Karnwyr managed to stand up shakily. He moved all too slowly, but the worst was over.

“Now, now. Don’t move a muscle, dears,” a voice sounded through the cavern as a man approached from the shadows. He was very tall and lean and wore long robes. As he made his way closer to them, they spotted his long platinum hair and chiseled gaunt face with golden skin. The Altmer’s hands lit up – one with fiery ball in his palm, the other with a crackling lightning above it.

“You attack us, you die,” Bishop’s eyes narrowed at him dangerously.

“Really?” the elf smirked. “Because I’m thinking: I attack you first and your whore and your mongrel won’t be able to do shit about it, with the state they’re in.”

“You attack, I Shout!” Aeyrin growled at him, her head still spinning. She was wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. She never before met an Altmer talking in such an unrefined manner. The condescension was still palpable though.

“Possibly,” the elf snorted. “So, I attack, one of you attacks, or one of you attacks and I attack. Either way, it doesn’t end well for either, huh? Or do you want to sacrifice one?” he smirked at Bishop. “I suggest the mongrel, whores are more useful.”

“Just get on with it!” Bishop barked at him. His bow wasn’t even ready and the second he would reach for it, he would risk that the elf would attack Aeyrin or Karnwyr.

“Here’s what we do then: I leave. You can enjoy my merchandise in peace if that’s why you’re here. Or do whatever the fuck you came here to do, I don’t care,” the Altmer said, moving sideways towards the exit subtly.

“No! We’re here to kill you!” Aeyrin yelled at him, she had to close her eyes for a second as blood was running from her head into them.

The elf chuckled slightly: “How flattering. You should really weigh your options though, girl. You might just be the first to go down.”

“It’s not worth it,” Bishop grumbled at her quietly, not willing to let one man take either of them away from him.

Aeyrin didn’t answer. All too aware of their limited options, she was trying hard not to think on what kind of man they were letting out in the world.

“Go!” Bishop barked at the elf.

He continued to move sideways, slowly, his hands still lit with magic.

Only after he disappeared in the room exit they heard the fast footsteps of a running man, echoing through the now empty caverns.

Aeyrin tried to heal the scratches on her head and neck but her head was still spinning too much.

Bishop ran off for a while, checking the rest of the cavern for any signs of the elf. He didn’t want him to catch them off guard while they recuperated. And if he was still lurking around, he could just kill him. 

He noticed the three delirious men in the other room were now a pile of burning corpses, likely the elf’s attempt to kill any unnecessary witnesses.

The elf was nowhere to be seen though, not even outside the cavern.

He returned to the main chamber, systematically checking all the attackers scattered on the ground, slitting the throats of those that he had even the slightest doubt about being dead.

Aeyrin and Karnwyr stayed where he left them, both still trying to get their bearings.

…

It took some time and one more potion before Aeyrin started to feel better, even managing to heal the scratches on her face.

It was still covered in blood, but at least the stinging was finally gone. Hopefully the Khajiit didn’t carry any nasty diseases.

She sat at the table nearby and Bishop picked Karnwyr up and laid him next to her on the bench so that she could reach him and try to heal him some more. She didn’t stop trying but the wolf needed more powerful magic than she had.

Bishop scoured the room for anything valuable while she looked over the large number of crates. She couldn’t even imagine how to get rid of all that.

After a while, Bishop came back, sitting across from her, his pack loaded with new loot.

He noticed the direction of her stare immediately.

“You know… there’s a lot of oil lamps on the ceiling. We could just burn the whole place for good.” he shrugged.

Aeyrin seemed to like that idea. Her expression got a bit less morose at the very least. She nodded thoughtfully as Bishop fished around his pack for two bottles of Honningbrew, passing one to Aeyrin.

“Shouldn’t we leave? That elf might call for reinforcements,” Aeyrin looked at him, surprised.

“There’s nothing around here for quite some time. We can relax for a bit. Besides, I saw you stagger to the table, you still need to keep calm.”

They were silent for a while, sipping the mead in the corpse infested room.

“So…” Bishop tried to broach the subject again, “are you gonna finally tell me what’s with you and all this skooma business? You didn’t seem as pissed at the addicts themselves.”

“Gods, the men! We should get them out before…” Aeyrin remembered but Bishop interrupted her: “They’re dead, sweetness. The mage burned them on his way out.”

She looked down at the table sadly, playing with the label on the mead bottle. Bishop didn’t push her further, hoping the silence would spur her to talk instead.

“My father… he was an addict,” she said into the silence after a while.

Bishop stayed silent for a while, but when she seemed reluctant to go on, he tried to nudge her more: “He gave you to the temple?” She did say she was there voluntarily, besides she would hardly hold such grudge against the stuff if her father gave her away when she was still a baby. But why would an addict keep a child he had to feed? He knew that people like that were incapable of caring about anything besides their own poisons.

She shook her head. “Father… well he earned his money by begging… but people recognize an addict. He figured it would be nice to have someone more… capable earning money for him,” she sighed, looking anywhere but at him.

“He barely managed to keep me alive when I was a baby. As soon as I could walk and talk he sent me to the streets. I begged, stole, broke into homes and I had to bring him all the money so he could spend it on skooma,” her eyes started to glitter with tears. The callous disregard of her father still stung, but the most painful part still remained unsaid.

“I had to steal something for myself from the amounts I brought so that I could at least get something to eat, but… that often meant he didn’t get enough for his habit…” she shook her head. “It was… worse when he didn’t have any.” tears dropped from her eyes slowly, she still didn’t look at him. She never talked to anyone about it. Master Therien and some other people in the temple knew, but she never actually had to tell anyone.

“There was a… seller. A Khajiit. He always came over, giving him new and new ideas on how to use me to make money when he didn’t have enough. At times father protested, that his ideas were too dangerous or that I was too young, but… he… had a way of convincing him...” she tore parts of the label of the mead bottle bit by bit absentmindedly. “He was an awful man. He knew well what he was doing, how many lives he was destroying,” she took a deep breath and shook her head again, running her hand over her left thigh subconsciously. She snatched her hand away from there in a second, not wanting to think about him anymore.

“When I got a little older, he suggested to father that I had… different uses he could get a lot of money for. So my father took me to a dark alley and waited for the first man to walk by so he could offer him… some time with me,” she shivered, still staring at the table.

“How old were you?” Bishop scowled, it was nothing new really, his own parents encouraged his sisters to do that themselves. It was pathetic of them, he always thought so, but hearing that the same happened to her made him… more furious than he would have expected.

“Eleven,” she scoffed, then she finally looked up at him, her eyes, troubled by her memories turned a little lighter.

“The man paid father, but he took me straight to the chapel,” she smiled sadly, “he told me that if I wanted it could be my home. That I would get food and a bed. That they would educate me and take care of me… that I would never have to see father or anyone else from that life again…”

She stayed silent for a while after that again, looking down at the table, playing with the bottle of mead. The thought of making that choice still made her feel… guilty. She knew she shouldn’t be but couldn’t help herself. She was so angry at him… and yet… she still couldn’t stop wishing for things to turn out differently. Wishing she’d have another chance to have a family.

Bishop observed her for a while. He knew well how shitty a life with a callous parent could be. “Did you? See him again?” he asked after some time.

“At times. He was still in Chorrol of course, wandering the streets, begging. He came to the temple a few times, demanding they give me back, got aggressive. But he was weak and delirious, no match for the priests. They never let him near me...” she shook her head sadly.

“The Khajiit was worse. He didn’t risk angering the church outright, but he pulled a lot of schemes trying to get me back. Probably lost a lot of business without me supporting father…” she scoffed in disgust.

“What did he do?”

She only shrugged in response “It doesn’t matter, he stopped… eventually,” she closed her eyes, trying hard not to think about her last encounter with the man. He got away in the end… same as the Altmer just now.

Bishop couldn’t really fathom how she could have so much sympathy for the delirious addicts after all that shit she went through with her father, but he decided not to ask further. She was upset enough already. He hesitated a while then covered one of her hands with his with a slight squeeze.

“We should get out of here,” he said after a while, hoping that taking her away from the place would make her feel better.

“There’s still…” she motioned towards the crates with an uncertain expression.

Bishop nodded, climbing up on the table and untangling one of the poorly fastened oil lamps from the ceiling. He repeated the process for any he could reach, then started to spill the oil inside and over the crates.

They made a trail leading back towards the smaller room, taking down the lamps there too and spilling the contents over the packages of moon sugar.

Aeyrin looked over at burnt corpses of the three men on the ground with regret, but didn’t say anything on the subject anymore.

They led the trail all the way to the entrance. Bishop threw the remaining lamp back inside and rushed Aeyrin and Karnwyr to step back. He bent down, pulling out a flint and a small metal rod from his pack, striking the sparks out of them.

The flames went up in a matter of seconds, the whole visible entryway lighting up with wild blaze.

Bishop was careful enough not to lead the oil trail too far out, so that the shrubbery wouldn’t get caught in the midst of the heat and a forest fire wouldn’t start – that way only a malevolent red glare could be seen coming out of the cavern.

They watched for a while in silence, the flames slowly dying down by the entrance and moving further into the den.

After the red haze was no longer visible, Bishop draped his arm over Aeyrin’s shoulder, ushering her away from the scene gently.

She nuzzled her head into his arm with a slight smile as they headed westward.


	17. Dark Waters

Karnwyr was moving more and more slowly before they reached Darkwater Crossing, the strain on his bruised bones was becoming apparent.

Bishop knew of a capable healer in the mining village who would be able to help the wolf, the man looked after the miners and took care of all their injuries – he had a lot of experience with crushed bones.

He brought the miners meat and pelts often in the past and had a good working relationship with them – he was pretty confident the healer would help his wolf without question.

They reached the village and Bishop took Karnwyr straight to the Dunmer healer while Aeyrin headed towards the lake to wash herself of the remaining blood and grime.

The place was beautiful – a large waterfall system reflected the setting sun at the other side of the lake, the water falling from top of a large cliff, its peak was barely visible in all the mist. A small rainbow formed above the falling water, creating a magical view.

Aeyrin looked around.

The miners were still probably working and Bishop was standing some distance away, talking to an older Dunmer man who nodded at him from time to time, looking Karnwyr over.

She walked a bit further, hiding behind some trees and started to take off her armor. The lake looked so pristine and she felt so filthy after all that fighting and walking around in that horrible dealers’ den. She prepared to take off her tunic when a rustle of leaves startled her.

She looked over towards the source of the disturbance to see Bishop leaning against a tree, watching her with a smirk.

“Don’t stop on my account, sweetness,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes with a smirk but stopped undressing, instead looking over the serene scene again.

“How’s Karnwyr?”

“He’ll be fine. Sondas says he has several cracked ribs and it will take a while for them to settle properly. He can’t really move while that happens so we’ll be spending some time here.”

Aeyrin nodded with a smile, relieved that the wolf was going to be back to his full strength soon.

“It’s beautiful here,” she closed her eyes for a bit breathing in the fresh air. It felt like up until now she still had that musty smell of sugar and smoke stuck in her nose.

She felt him approach behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders running them down her arms lightly “You certainly enhance the view,” his voice was low in her ear. She rested herself against his chest for a while – it felt so relaxing and safe.

After a while though, she found herself too aware of his body against her, pulling back and blushing fiercely. It was strange, every time she felt herself being pulled towards him, her inhibitions kicked in. It was odd letting herself be so familiar with someone, she never before actually met anyone that would even make her want to get closer to them. She knew she was probably too reserved for her own good, but there was always this sense of embarrassment and discomfort when she got too aware of how intimate they were becoming.

Maybe she really was too sheltered in the temple. Master Therien thought that she needed to experience more of the real world too. But it was so comforting to have a home where she felt safe, where she didn’t need to worry about starving or getting hurt. She hoped she could find that in Skyrim too, but was wary of clinging to her safe place too much again, like she did before, and right now Bishop was the only ‘safe place’ she had.

She turned to him, seeing what could almost pass as disappointment on his face as she pulled back from his embrace.

“How about you go find us something to eat, so I can finally wash up,” she smiled bashfully.

He gave her a once-over. She expected another comment about helping her wash or watching her back but he stayed surprisingly quiet. He nodded after a little while, leaving her to enjoy the lake alone.

…

When she returned, she found Bishop by a large campfire, preparing food for quite a lot of people from the looks of it.

There was a little Nord girl with long blonde hair running around him, skipping on the small stones along the path to the mine.

“How did he get hurt?” the girl called out to Bishop, running towards the campfire and sitting herself next to him.

“A dragon accidentally sat on him,” Bishop smirked.

The girl stared at him for a while then frowned: “Na-ah! You’re lying! Verner says there’s no such thing as dragons!”

“How does Verner know?” Bishop gave her an amused challenging smile.

“He’s old so he’s smart!” she beamed back, raising her index finger at him.

“Right,” Bishop snorted in response, turning his attention back to the meat.

Aeyrin approached them, sitting by the fire to dry of, smiling at the girl in greetings.

“I’m Hrefna. You’re mister hunter’s friend?”

Aeyrin giggled while Bishop rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I’m Aeyrin. Nice to meet you, Hrefna,” she gave her a warm smile.

“Did you see how Karnwyr got hurt? It wasn’t a dragon, was it?” she asked a little warily.

“No, it wasn’t a dragon, don’t worry,” Aeyrin smiled at her reassuringly, there was no reason to panic her.

“I knew you were lying!” the girl stuck out her tongue at Bishop and skipped over to a nearby building, peering into the window to catch a glimpse of the old elf working his magic.

“Did you come here often?” Aeyrin turned to Bishop, quite surprised to see him so… sociable.

“Yeah, I spent a lot of time in the southeast. These people don’t have a hunter in the village so they rely on travelling ones. It’s good business,” he shrugged. “Sondas didn’t even want money, just meat. I’ll go hunting again before we leave so that they have some supplies.”

Hrefna skipped back to them in the meantime, sitting herself back by the fire.

“What kind of elf are you? You’re not like Sondas,” she looked at Aeyrin curiously after a while of silence.

“I’m a Wood Elf,” Aeyrin answered politely.

Hrefna gasped at the answer, looking at her warily, then looking at the meat on the roast in suspicion. “Do you really… eat people?” she asked when she gathered the courage, earning a roaring laugh from Bishop.

“No, I’m from Cyrodiil. From a city,” Aeyrin shook her head with a slight smile. She never got so many remarks and questions about her race back in the Imperial Province. She knew that coming from the girl, it wasn’t a hateful snide comment, but it was getting tiresome.

“Oh… whew,” Hrefna sighed with relief. 

There was silence for a little while again, Hrefna was humming idly, obviously trying to think on how to amuse herself further.

“Did you swim to the waterfall?” she asked after a while.

Aeyrin only nodded, smiling at the girl.

“Did you see Derkeethus? He swims there often, under the water so no one can see. He’s watching the fishies,” Hrefna look at Aeyrin hopefully with a sad expression, but Aeyrin didn’t notice the girl’s distress, too preoccupied by the revelation.

She blushed fiercely at the thought that someone might have been in the water there, instinctively crossing her arms over her torso. She noticed Bishop’s attention snap from the fire, raising an eyebrow at her, than narrowing them, staring at the water.

“What?! There’s someone in there?!” Aeyrin yelped.

“I don’t know… He’s there often, but he comes back here to sleep. He hasn’t been here in three days now,” the girl stared into the fire, worry etched on her face.

“The Argonian?” Bishop turned his attention back to the girl who nodded at him, her expression still sad and worried.

“Do you think he fell asleep in the water? He can breathe in it, you know!” the girl’s eyes lit up with hope.

“I don’t think he’s in there that long…” Bishop gave her a doubtful look.

Hrefna looked into the fire sadly while the miners started to leave the mine, darkness slowly falling upon the village.

The miners greeted Aeyrin and Bishop and asked them about their travels long into the night. They told them about some encounters of theirs back in the Rift but left out both the dragon and the skooma den.

Aeyrin eventually asked about the Argonian that Hrefna mentioned and the villagers confirmed that he was likely missing. They gave her some of the locations he likes to spend time and swim and Aeyrin promised them they would look for him the next day. Karnwyr needed to rest anyways and this way they could fill their day with something productive.

Aeyrin entertained them with a jolly song about mining, which she learned from miners from Belletor’s Folly near Kvatch. Eventually they spent the night sharing the miners’ camp, sleeping in one of the large tents scattered around the village.

…

They set out early in the morning, leaving some of their loot with the villagers for safekeeping – the less they carried while exploring the mountainous lakesides the better.

They scoured Derkeethus’s haunts carefully, but saw no sign of the man himself until they reached a lake situated all the way above the large waterfall near Darkwater Crossing.

The sight was even more beautiful than the one from below, three other waterfalls were visible, leading further up the mountain, reflecting the midday sun and creating an enigmatic cloud of thick mist all around them.

The Argonian wasn’t there either, but they did find a cave entrance filled with low water. Having nowhere else to look, they decided to explore the cavern, wading through the water, careful not to get swept up by the tide – it would be quite the fall all the way down to the lake by the village.

Aeyrin struggled a bit to keep her balance in her heavy armor, but Bishop was right behind her, ready to steady her anytime she wavered.

They waded through the cavern entrance, finally finding a piece of solid ground where the water couldn’t reach them.

They pulled themselves up from the knee-deep water, looking around curiously.

The cavern was dark, very dark. The only things illuminating the way were strange turquoise-colored mushrooms that emitted an ethereal glow. Aeyrin has never seen anything like that – the cave looked almost magical, only lightly illuminated by the odd fungi.

“There’s no way we can get a torch going in this place,” Bishop grumbled, looking up on the dripping ceiling.

Their eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as they continued on, guided by the light of the mushrooms.

“What are these?” Aeyrin asked curiously.

“Glowing mushrooms. Damp caves are full of them around here.”

“They’re beauti-” before Aeyrin managed to finish, Bishop’s large hand quickly covered her mouth, silencing her.

Neither of them made any move or sound for quite a while as they listened tensely.

There it was again, a strange gurgling sound, followed by a clink of metal.

Bishop let go of her slowly, creeping silently forward, looking around warily. He looked around the chamber they were in but it was hard to see anything in the dark, their hearing impaired by the constant dripping and trickling of water.

Aeyrin stood still careful not to make a sound. She only turned her head around to see better as there was a patch of glowing mushrooms right by her, helping her monitor the area.

Bishop headed silently further into the chamber, tensely weighing every step so that he wouldn’t accidentally make a noise.

Aeyrin suddenly felt like she heard that gurgle again, but it was drowned out by the water. It did seem like it came out from somewhere near her though.

She looked around carefully, her eyes finally landing on the patch of mushrooms by her side.

There was a… creature, just standing there, staring right at her with horrible narrow wrinkled slits instead of eyes. It was all skin-toned, with hands and legs and… pointed ears… it was almost like a mer.

She couldn’t control her shock and fear at the sight of the creature and gasped. It was so hideous and terrifying and so close to her.

The idle creature immediately became alert at the sound she made, lunging forward and throwing her to the ground with a loud clank of armor and splash from a nearby puddle.

Aeyrin cried out in surprise, struggling against the beast, trying to get a grip on her mace as it screeched at her, its disfigured maw right above her face, drool dropping down on her.

Bishop looked back hastily, barely seeing her on the ground in the darkness, struggling.

He aimed his bow, but the glint of her armor reflected off the slick walls, making it difficult to see her exact position. He might hit her by accident.

Finally she managed to get a grip on her weapon, swinging it with force at the creature that was attempting to claw through her chest piece.

The thing slumped to the ground, dead in one swing, making a crackling sound as it bounced off the wall.

Bishop tried to be both quick and quiet as he made his way back to her while she was crawling back on her feet again. 

“Ladyship,” he whispered as he was near her, “we need to be really fucking quiet right now.”

Aeyrin swallowed the knot in her throat, standing very still and not saying a word in fear of another of those creatures attacking.

Surely enough outlines of three more of those things became vaguely visible as they made their way into the chamber.

Aeyrin and Bishop stood very still, not moving a muscle and not making a sound.

Aeyrin got really nervous as she was sure her glinting armor was visible by the mushrooms on the wall but she refrained from moving, trusting Bishop’s judgment.

The creatures scurried around the room quietly, looking for the source of the disturbance. Bishop listened to the pattern of the dripping water, finally settling on the exact moment when to draw his bowstring so that the sound would get drowned out. He managed not to alert the creatures as they walked around them warily, settling on a silhouette of one which was lit lightly by some mushrooms.

With one shot the beast was down, attracting the attention of its compatriots. Bishop again waited for the dripping sound as he drew again, hitting another one of those things right to the throat – it was much easier when they clustered around the dead one.

After that, he didn’t wait for the sound any longer as the last creature figured out the source of the arrow’s swish.

The last arrow hit just as the creature started to charge in Bishop’s general direction, piercing its nostrils and sending it toppling down on the ground.

With a sigh of relief he turned back to Aeyrin: “We need light. Without it those fuckers have us beat.”

“What are they?” Aeyrin whispered back, her voice trembling slightly. She faced undead, large insects, goblins who decorated themselves in human skulls, but she was never before so freaked out by seeing a monster. She didn’t know why.

“Falmer,” Bishop said, seemingly surprised that she didn’t know.

“Those were elves?!” Aeyrin gasped, a little too loudly for Bishop’s comfort.

He cringed, looking over his shoulder for a while, then turned back to her: “Not anymore.”

…

They decided against even trying to use torches – if they even managed to get a spark among the constant dripping water, the smoke and crackling of burning wood might attract the Falmer. Luckily, Aeyrin remembered a magic trick she once saw – the mage conjured a little ball of light, trapping it in the neck of a bottle of water, when he turned the bottle neck-down, it lit up the entire room. They repeated the same thing with some empty potion bottles and a few of the glowing mushrooms. The effect wasn’t nearly as mesmerizing but it was better than nothing. They corked the bottles, fastening them around their upper arms, lighting the areas around them.

“Won’t they see us?” Aeyrin asked after a while, realizing the possible futility of their caution.

“They’re blind. Their hearing’s real good though, so be careful. This way at least they won’t sneak up on us.”

They continued through the cavern slowly, staying as quiet as possible.

They were able to see the Falmer a bit now, catching few of them off guard, but the cave was crawling with them. At least they could fight them properly now, seeing from where they came at them.

Aeyrin noticed that some of the Falmer even used weapons and armor, making them even more… elven. She didn’t remember anything ever creeping her out this much, hoping they were a rarity even in Skyrim. The thought of these creatures once being the majestic Snow Elves was horrifying.

The fight even got to close quarters a couple of times, as the monsters were lurking in some strange dwellings hanging on the walls. Bishop had to dispose of his bow those times, getting too close to the Falmer for comfort, plunging his trusted hunting knife deep in their insides.

…

They have just managed to clear out a large chamber of the creatures, both covered in blood and grime, both of them wearing some nasty scratches and slashes, when a weary voice came from behind one of the cavernous walls.

“Is anyone there? Please… I heard fighting…” there was a hopeful intonation in the voice and its raspiness suggested that the owner was Argonian.

They both ran towards the wall, seeing a couple of cracks between the boulders.

“How the fuck did you get there?” Bishop raised his eyebrows.

“It was… already collapsed. I added the boulder… at the top… please… I’m too weak to… remove it,” the man gasped, his voice strained, perhaps even from a lack of air. 

Bishop and Aeyrin tried to grip the slippery stone, slowly moving it out of the way. As they laid the boulder slowly on the ground, trying not to make too much noise by dropping it, the Argonian started to try to get grip on the other boulders to get through the crack, he was breathing heavily and his face was cringing with pain.

They both grabbed him, one under each arm and pulled him out of his hiding place.

Their makeshift lanterns soon revealed a badly bruised and buck naked Argonian.

Aeyrin averted her gaze quickly, blushing fiercely, while Bishop fished around his pack with a smirk, handing the man his worn cloak.

“Apologies… I was swimming… up by the river. The stream… it was so strong. I only managed to… direct myself to a cave,” the Argonian let out a loud wheeze, hiding himself into Bishop’s cloak as best as he could.

“You hear… the water?” the Argonian pointed towards another cavernous hallway. Indeed the sound of running water was getting louder, coming from that direction. “That’s where I… ended up. There’s a waterfall… and Falmer,” he cringed.

“You stay behind us, don’t move and stay quiet. We’ll deal with the creatures,” Aeyrin put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. The Argonian nodded gratefully, taking another deep breath, trying to calm his wheezing.

…

They managed to get to the large chamber with a waterfall without much trouble but the place itself was crawling with the monsters.

Bishop took out some of them with a bow before they got noticed but soon their attention was on them. The battle was brutal and chaotic with Falmer coming in from all directions. One of the Falmer even jumped right at the Argonian, attacking him promptly. Luckily Aeyrin noticed soon enough, throwing the creature off of him before it did any real damage.

When all appeared quiet, they climbed past the waterfall and waded through the small distance of the strong current of the river with their last strength. They all managed to get to the shore, falling on the ground in exhaustion, breathing heavily.

When they calmed down a bit, Aeyrin started to heal any wounds she could, beginning with the Argonian, who did his best to cover himself with the flimsy cloak when he noticed Aeyrin’s blush as she approached him. He only had few scratches and bruises. The worst thing was his breathing after spending so long in that small alcove, but it was slowly getting better on its own.

“I cannot thank you two enough,” he breathed out heavily. “I managed to get out of the water… but the Falmer… I am lucky I am fast,” he smiled a little proudly. “I noticed the crevice when I ran… and jumped in without thinking. There were some glowing mushrooms in it... and the boulder. I managed to seal it, to keep them out. I ate the mushrooms after a while. It was so dark… and the air was thinning,” he shook his head with a distressed expression on his face. “If you hadn’t come…” his whole body gave out a shiver and he closed the cloak around himself more firmly.

“It’s alright,” Aeyrin smiled at him kindly, “You are Derkeethus, right?”

His eyes widened a bit, then he looked over at Bishop more properly: “Ah… you remembered me? You are the hunter who used to sell in the village, right?”

Bishop nodded: “Yeah, they sent us to look for you.”

Derkeethus inclined his head gratefully. “Thank you… little Hrefna must be worried sick,” he smiled to himself, obviously fond of the child.

Aeyrin asked Bishop if he had any urgent injuries but when he shook his head, they decided to take care of any scratches back in the village.

The three of them started to descend on the paths heading towards Darkwater Crossing.

Aeyrin noticed that Bishop winced from time to time, no doubt wounded more than he let on. She considered scolding him like the stubborn child that he was right in front of Derkeethus but in the end decided to spare him. It was barely an hour’s walk towards the village anyways.


	18. Nilheim

When they approached the village with the missing Argonian they were practically hailed as heroes.

Everyone gathered around them, asking what happened, offering drinks and food.

Derkeethus recuperated a bit by swimming around in the clean water and finally finding some clothes. He also wolfed down almost half the food prepared for the entire village. Afterwards he started to spin the tale of how daringly Bishop and Aeyrin rescued him.

While the Argonian had everyone’s attention, embellishing largely, Aeyrin motioned to Bishop to follow her over to the lake.

She led him towards the spot behind the trees where they talked last time.

“Finally need help washing?” he laughed.

She smirked at his persistence, deciding to play his game if it got her the result she wanted.

“Sure. You first. Off with the armor!” she laughed back.

Bishop raised his eyebrow at her then narrowed his eyes with suspicion: “That was too easy. It seems like a trap.”

“I would never!” Aeyrin gasped in mock outrage, giving him an indignant look.

“You first then,” Bishop laughed again, winking at her suggestively.

Aeyrin shook her head with a smile, stepping closer to him. She blushed a bit at the closeness but was determined not to get discouraged. She slowly ran her hand over his flank, reaching one of the clasps there, then moving on lower to the other one.

Bishop seemed to be paralyzed. He watched her hands move over his torso with an uncertain expression as she continued unbuckling his armor. This was definitely a strange change of pace. What has gotten into her? Not that he was complaining… but…

When the clasps were undone, she started to roll the lower hem of the leather chest piece upwards over his head.

He accommodated her without thinking, dragging the armor out of the way himself – it was mostly reflex. Did he even want her like this? It seemed so out of character, no trepidation, no incessant blushing… well some blushing. And there were people very nearby. Not that _he_ cared, but it seemed like something she would definitely mind.

“I knew it!” she interrupted his ruminations.

He looked at her in surprise, determining the direction of her gaze. She was looking at the large bloodstain all over his tunic on his chest a disapproving frown on her face.

“I asked if you were wounded! You are like a child! Can’t you just tell me, so I can heal you?!”

He only managed to stare at her slack-jawed for a bit, before he realized what just happened.

“What? That was… that was outright vicious, princess. You cheated!” he frowned at her, a little impressed by her ruse.

“Well what else am I supposed to do with you?!” she threw her arms in exasperation. “Now, let’s just take care of this. Take off the shirt,” she sighed.

“You first,” he smirked again giving her a daring stare.

She chuckled and rolled her eyes while putting her hands on his shoulders making him sit down. This time he obeyed and even removed his tunic, revealing a nasty gash across his torso. His armor must have been torn too, but the black color hid that well in the darkness.

Aeyrin looked at the wound, shaking her head in disapproval.

She put a clean piece of cloth into the shimmering lake and started to clean his wound gently.

She did catch herself staring at his body all too often, blushing fiercely the entire time. Her gaze wandered to the hard contours of his body, the chiseled chest, the firm abs below and all the well-formed muscles on his arms. He had a leaner musculature than lot of the large burly Nord men, but she liked it a lot more. It was apparent that he was agile as well as strong.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetness?” Bishop’s pleased smirk interrupted her.

She didn’t even realize how long she’s been running the cloth over his body. The blush on her face now must have been visible even on the other end of Skyrim.

“I… ehm…. there was… a lot dirt…” she muttered under her breath earning a hearty laugh from Bishop.

“Sure there was, princess,” he smirked at her as she dropped the cloth, hurriedly pressing her palms on his chest, lighting them up with magic. The wound was nasty-looking but luckily not too deep – it wouldn’t even scar after she was done with it.

She worked on the gash diligently, avoiding any eye-contact in the meantime – she did not want to see that smug smirk that was undoubtedly on his face.

When she was done she quickly grabbed his tunic and shoved it into his arms, turning away from him, waiting for him to get dressed. She heard the shuffling of cloth and him grabbing his armor, still stubbornly keeping his back to him.

After a while a warm breath on her ear startled her. “Thanks, sweetness,” his deep voice rumbled in her ear, sending a strange shiver down her spine and making her cheeks light up again.

She turned around slightly only to see him head back towards the campfire.

…

They spent some more time celebrating with the miners but they were both pretty exhausted.

They went to sleep early, planning on leaving the next morning.

Bishop did still promise to leave some supplies behind and decided to go hunting before the dawn.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, he grabbed his hunting supplies and walked over to Sondas’s hut. The door was closed but there was a slightly opened window. He opened it fully, careful not to wake the man and knocked on the wood quietly – he knew Karnwyr was alert at night, the slightest sound would rouse him.

As he suspected, soon he heard the rustling of paws against the stone floor. He got out of the way of the window and waited as his friend jumped out with grace, already at full strength.

Bishop closed the window quietly, ruffling Karnwyr’s fur. He knew Sondas was reliable, but he couldn’t help but worry about him all the same.

They both crept out of the camp stealthily, continuing along the mountain path deeper into the forest.

…

They spent several hours stalking prey, Karnwyr proudly presenting himself to Bishop with two rabbits he managed to catch during their nighttime stroll, while Bishop managed to kill a large buck that would feed the whole village for at least five days.

He remembered the days when killing such an animal would be a feat to be proud of, days when it would help him and his brother survive for weeks in the woods. Now it seemed so ordinary. He got so good at hunting them down that one buck was hardly a challenge.

Suddenly he realized where he was.

Without even thinking he started to walk the old path.

He remembered it well, even at night.

He continued along, curious how the old tower looked these days. He hasn’t been back in years.

As he approached the stone bridge leading to Nilheim, he noticed a person lying on the ground. He pulled out his knife, knowing what kind of people that place attracted and approached the figure warily.

“Sir… ow… sir, please,” the man’s eyes lit up when he saw Bishop. He looked wounded… or drunk? “Please… I got ambushed… robbed blind I tell ye. Please… help me back to my homestead, I beg of you!” the man pleaded.

It was dark, but he looked unkempt. Bishop narrowed his eyes in suspicion but asked regardless: “Where’s your homestead?”

“Not far… good sir… just past the bridge,” the man smiled.

That didn’t make sense – Nilheim was a ruin, no homestead. No one respectable lived there – he should know. The man was playing him.

Bishop outstretched one arm to the man to help him up.

“Thank you, really…” the man muttered as Bishop suddenly pulled him towards him with great force, impaling him on his hunting knife.

The man’s eyes showed both shock and wrath, he didn’t speak though, only gurgled and spit out blood.

Bishop kicked him off the road in the river as his limp body cracked over the boulders making its way towards the waterfall. He wondered for a while if he was going to end up all the way down at the lake by Darkwater Crossing. He shrugged at the thought, looking over at Karnwyr with a smirk as he pulled out his bow: “Just like old times, huh?”

…

They made short work of the bandits camped out at Nilheim.

Most of them didn’t even see Bishop coming as he picked them off one by one.

Karnwyr took out anyone that became alert, ripping into their limbs or throats as they desperately tried to shake the savage wolf off.

It didn’t take long before the place stood empty once again. Bishop kicked some of the bandits off the cliffs, not even sure why. It felt strange having them there. It still felt somehow… his.

He climbed the tower looking over the darkness covering Skyrim.

He could see the moon glittering in Lake Geir and in the distance he could even swear he saw the outline of the cliff under which Lost Knife lay. It was a good decision to avoid it. If Nilheim had these bandits living there, who knows what sort they would find there? Aeyrin would likely want to rid Skyrim of them… and that might get ugly. With her attitude he was really glad he managed to dissuade her from frolicking around Falkreath.

He looked up at the top of the tower for a while, remembering the many talks he had there with Jules. He missed him. He wondered what his brother would think of Aeyrin. They were certainly both annoyingly excited about everything.

He smiled to himself.

It would only take an hour or two before the sun rose. He could probably wait a bit, enjoy the sunrise at the tower again. The shimmering lake, the morning mist over the mountains... Aeyrin would have loved the view.

Damn, he did think about her a lot.

He smiled again as he remembered their interaction from last night. The way she looked at him… there was no doubt about it now.

He got up from his vantage point suddenly, walking briskly back towards Darkwater.

…

“Pssst, we have to hurry, come on, ladyship.”

A tug at her shoulder woke her from her slumber.

She drowsily opened her eyes. It was still night out and Bishop was tugging her out of bed.

“What… It’s dark,” she mumbled.

“Stop complaining and come, I have something to show you,” he dragged her out of the bedroll, stopping her when she reached for her pack. “We’ll be back soon, you don’t need that. Come.”

She followed him out of the large tent, noticing a few animal carcasses on the ground beside it as he ushered her on.

“Where are we going?” she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Patience, princess. You’ll see soon.”

Bishop didn’t say anything the rest of the way, as they marched along the mountain path, towards a stone bridge. The light was slowly creeping up to the sky but the sun wasn’t visible yet.

As she followed him across the bridge with curiosity, she noticed a few corpses along the path. Likely bandits, the tower they seemed to be headed for looked perfect for a lookout.

Karnwyr laid down lazily at the base of the tower as Bishop led her inside, walking along the stone steps all the way up to a wooden platform.

There he grabbed her by the shoulders pointing her towards the view, setting himself right next to her.

The view was spectacular.

She could probably see the whole province from up there.

As the sun slowly made its way up on the sky, it drowned everything in beautiful golden hue – the shimmering lake right below them, the snowy mountaintops in the distance, the mist falling all over the valleys – it all looked like a dream.

It was even better than sunsets on the Gold Coast.

Maybe because this time, she wasn’t watching alone.

“I spent some time here, long ago. It was a place I could always return to for a while,” Bishop smiled, staring into the distance. “It’s where I met a certain wolf cub,” his expression conveyed so much fondness – more than she ever thought to see.

He turned to her, smiling again as he found her already watching him.

“My first home in Skyrim… I never brought anyone here.”

She looked into his eyes, not being able to stop herself from blushing and averting her gaze a bit after a while, noticing the intensity in his eyes.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said, looking back at him after she managed to compose herself again.

It felt like he was standing closer to her now, his amber eyes glinting in the morning light, his face close to hers.

Again she felt blush rising on her cheeks but this time she didn’t look away. She didn’t seem to be able to… staring into his eyes, almost mesmerized.

She felt one of his hands envelop her side, lying gently above her hip, the other he moved towards her cheek, stroking it lightly, then easing it on the back of her neck.

He tilted her face upwards, moving even closer to her as she stood tentatively on her tiptoes, suddenly feeling very short.

His lips brushed against hers softly at first, but before she even realized what was happening, they captured hers fully. The taste of honeyed mead filled her mouth as his kiss grew on insistence. He pressed her closer, his hand stroking slowly above her hip and the other firmly holding the back of her neck, draped in her hair.

His tongue entered her mouth teasingly, twining with hers as a light moan escaped her throat, muffled by his lips on hers.

The experience was dizzying but she didn’t want it to end, her arms encircling his waist, lying at his back, pulling him closer.

His teeth bit gently into her lower lip before he kissed her again, hungrily, deepening the kiss even more than before. Her heart was pounding in her chest and a pleasant heat spread through her body. She felt herself responding eagerly, almost subconsciously, as her hands bundled the fabric of his tunic in a tight grip, her tongue teasing along his own.

The need for breath finally pulled them apart.

Aeyrin’s whole face was a deep shade of red as she pressed the back of her hand to her cheek dizzily, catching her breath. Did that really just happened?

“You… kissed me,” she blurted out, still a bit in shock at her own forwardness.

“You just noticed?” he laughed, pressing the palm of his hand at her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin lightly, a fond smile on his face.

“It was kinda hard to miss,” she smiled bashfully, averting her gaze from him slightly.

He shook his head at her with another laugh. “That’s good to hear, I’d hate if you missed it,” he smirked.

She looked back at him, smiling, his hand still stroking over her reddened cheek. Her gaze fell towards his mouth and she leaned in without even thinking about it as Bishop quickly captured her lips again, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

…

They spent quite some time there.

Aeyrin expected him to try for more, but he was surprisingly restrained, not groping at her or even making any comments.

They didn’t think at all, for a change, neither of them wanted to spoil the moment by wondering about what it meant, what would happen next and other issues.

They spent a long time standing atop the tower, lost in each other.

Eventually, they set off back towards the road together, eagerly followed by the rather bored-looking wolf.

Neither of them spoke. The moment, the scenery, the feelings, all were too fleeting to be ruined by overthinking.

They walked back towards Darkwater Crossing, silently, but side by side.

Aeyrin did wonder though whether her flushed cheeks would ever go back to normal again.


	19. Summons

It only took them a little while before they packed their things in Darkwater Crossing and said goodbye to the villagers.

Sondas was a bit upset with Bishop for stealing away Karnwyr from the sleeping healer, but it was nothing that Bishop’s last haul from his hunt couldn’t fix.

They set off soon, heading towards the fabled Eldergleam Sanctuary.

Neither of them mentioned that morning’s happenings, returning back to their easygoing routine. Aeyrin was getting increasingly anxious on their lack of communication on the subject. She certainly enjoyed it, but what would it mean for them?

She knew he was attracted to her, as was she to him, but she still couldn’t help herself but be a bit apprehensive. What about those warnings she received before? Would being intimate with her mean as little to him as it seemed to with his previous acquaintances? Though, that was hardly fair, she only ever met one woman that she knew about for certain, and his drunken state surely contributed to his attitude towards her afterwards. She only assumed about the other… but it still left an uncomfortable feeling at the back of her mind.

…

After an hour or so, they arrived to a wide plain with dry crackled ground, filled with pools of deep blue water, bubbling and steaming as far as the eye could see.

In the distance a large mammoth was slowly passing by, its long brown fur soaking at the bottom from the steam and moisture.

“Giants,” Bishop grumbled as Aeyrin took in the sights.

“Where?” she looked around with confusion, aside from some sparse trees, there wasn’t anything taller than the mammoth anywhere.

“Around. See those carving on the mammoth’s tusk? It means it’s protected by a giant.”

She couldn’t see anything on the tusks as the creature was so far. How could he see that? No wonder he was so good with that bow.

“I was seven when I hunted my first one,” Bishop flexed his shoulders with a smug grin.

“A giant?” Aeyrin’s eyes went wide. She wasn’t sure if she believed him.

“No, a mammoth. Damn, princess, now you made it sound much less impressive,” he smirked at her with a disapproving shake of his head.

Aeyrin chuckled patting his back lightly: “You’ll have to embellish even more to impress me.”

“Pfft… I don’t need to embellish anything, ladyship,” Bishop scoffed at her, pulling out his bow and aiming at the mammoth in the distance. Apparently he was adamant at proving his hunting skills to her.

“Didn’t you say that it’s protected by a giant?” Aeyrin frowned at him.

“Scared?” Bishop smirked at her, taking a knee to adjust his aim.

“You take this long to aim at a target this big, I’m surprised you ever manage to catch anything,” Aeyrin smirked right back at him, teasing. She noticed being more at ease with him lately, being able to disperse of the polite and reserved face she was taught to wear – that is when he wasn’t purposefully trying to fluster her. It wasn’t a façade, or a pretense to be proper, but at times she felt that she missed the carefreeness she could have experienced in her childhood. Her father and Ri’zhassa made sure of that and the subsequent discipline required in the temple would have a similar effect in the end.

During her pilgrimage, she attempted to let herself experience more of this carefree side of life, drinking and singing with strangers in the taverns, travelling with no particular goal nor purpose or making fun of things but it always made her feel at least a little guilty.

She couldn’t remember the last time she was comfortable enough with someone to just joke around.

Bishop raised his eyebrow at her, annoyed: “At least I can aim. I wonder if _you_ could ever hit something without swinging your stick in all directions first.”

The arrow flew, hitting the mammoth’s head – it looked like it hit the beast square in the eye but Aeyrin couldn’t see that well enough to be certain. A loud cry could be heard coming from the mammoth, followed by an angry rumble further in the distance.

Bishop discharged another arrow, aiming at the beast’s neck and another in back in its head.

The cries got louder and more desperate as the beast toppled to the ground, creating a small quake for a second.

“I could have done _that_ ,” Aeyrin rolled her eyes with a light chuckle, but still, it was impressive – only three arrows to fell such a large beast.

She wondered for a while if she could ever stand against a dragon without his help. Then again they never even killed a dragon just the two of them. If she was supposed to be the only one who… no. She didn’t want to think about that again.

“Tell you what,” Bishop smirked at her, “how about a little shooting contest then?”

Aeyrin nodded, smiling at him smugly, but she knew she didn’t stand a chance against a seasoned hunter like him. She only held a bow a few times and she was far from good with it. She preferred crossbows, but in the end, all ranged combat felt off to her – like she wasn’t in control of the battle, just constantly retreating. Besides she really wasn’t much of a sneak and it was hardly an effective form of combat when everyone knew where she was.

The telltale continual quake of the ground signaled the angered giant approaching.

They watched as the beast spotted its dead mammoth, looking around in confusion and smashing its enormous club on the ground in fury.

“You know, if we kill it, the villagers could come by and take some more meat off of that mammoth,” Aeyrin pondered.

“We already left them a big haul. And saved the lizard. Debt’s paid tenfold as far as I’m concerned,” Bishop scoffed, dragging her a bit towards him to hide her from being spotted by the giant.

“Scared?” Aeyrin giggled at him with a challenging smile.

With an annoyed growl and narrowed eyes, Bishop pulled out his bow again, aiming at the giant.

Aeyrin started to charge just as the first arrow hit the beast’s chest, Karnwyr running right by her side, excited for the action. It was a long way away and Bishop managed to shoot two more arrows into it before the beast and Aeyrin met halfway, the giant smashing its club to the ground furiously again as she slid between its legs, smashing into its foot with her mace.

Karnwyr jumped on the same foot, biting into it ferally, tearing off a large chunk of sinewy flesh.

The giant roared, dropping its club with a large thud as it started to jump on its healthy foot, the ground shaking underneath. It held the wounded foot with both its hands, roaring in pain.

It was hard to stand still with the ground quake, but Aeyrin managed to smash into its other foot quickly, making the beast drop to its knees in pain.

Another arrow flew through the air with a swish, hitting the giant’s eye as Aeyrin landed her final blow – right in the middle of the creature’s spine.

The giant slumped forward, the moans of pain subsiding as Karnwyr started to tear at its now grounded throat to make sure it was dead.

Bishop walked over to them, putting away his bow. “So… happy? Done your good deed for the day?” he grinned at her.

She gave him a demure smile in response, not commenting further. She knew he liked the people in Darkwater Crossing, despite his posturing. He didn’t even protest when she offered to find Derkeethus, not even when they found themselves in the Falmer lair. Plus he barely grumbled and complained at all when they were talking and celebrating with the villagers.

“So… the Sanctuary, then back to the…” before she could finish the thought another deep rumble shook the ground with a loud sound which seemed to surround the entire valley.

It did seem to come from southwest, from the mountains again, but they couldn’t be sure.

It was the same sound they heard that time in the Rift when they camped by the Dwemer ruins.

It didn’t sound like a dragon – again it reminded her of some words being shouted, but she didn’t recognize them, or couldn’t even identify the individual sounds with how loud it was.

Bishop narrowed his eyes at the direction of the mountains, watching them for a long while, but there was nothing.

He wondered for a while if the sound came from the Throat of the World. The jarl did say that the Greybeards would summon the Dragonborn for training. Was that it? Should he even tell her about the suspicion? She seemed to want nothing to do with being the Dragonborn. She suffered with every one of those beasts they took down, not that they took down that many. She also didn’t want to use those Shouts unless there was no other way. Would those old useless fossils actually have something helpful to tell her? Or would they just spew some shit about responsibility and destiny, making the whole thing worse?

“Did that sound to you like… words?” Aeyrin asked him nervously, giving him an uncertain look.

If that was actually the Greybeards, it likely wouldn’t stop. And maybe they did know something, maybe even something to lessen the pain from consuming the souls. He knew that if they started to talk about some idiotic prophecies she would feel obligated to do whatever suicidal task they would send her to. But this was no solution. She was just getting more and more agitated, thinking about the uncertainty, agonizing over the nature of this supposed ‘blessing’.

He had to tell her.

“Princess… it might have come from the Throat.”

She gave him a completely baffled look for a while, then replied: “Oh. The Throat of the World? What does that mean?”

He sighed: “You remember, the jarl told you that the Greybeards might summon you for something. Some training or other shit. They have some monastery up there.”

Aeyrin looked at the mountain for a while, a worried crease forming between her brows. She wondered if she should just ignore it. But it already happened twice, and… if she was really the only one who could kill dragons, it was her responsibility. As much as she hated this strange ‘blessing’, people’s lives were in danger. She couldn’t just ignore that. Maybe the Greybeards could even help her, give her more understanding of what she was.

She sighed, looking down on the ground.

“I should probably visit then,” she gave him a weak smile, packing up her weapon and shield in resignation.

Bishop squeezed her shoulder for a second but she didn’t look at him. He gave her a reassuring smile regardless, for some reason hoping she would notice: “It might help.”

They planned their journey, heading towards the Eldergleam Sanctuary.

They would spend another night at Darkwater Crossing and tell the villagers about the mammoth, then they would set out for the dreaded mountain.


	20. Sanctuary

At long last they reached an entrance to an inconspicuous cavern.

The Sanctuary was supposed to be somewhere around, but it certainly didn’t feel like a place to honor Kynareth’s glory.

There were no more possible locations in the area though, so they had no choice left but to head inside.

Aeyrin felt a bit guilty about postponing her promise to Danica for so long, especially since most of the time she spent travelling around the Rift with no pressing tasks taking precedence. And what was worse, it would take longer still before they got back to Whiterun. Hopefully the priestess would understand, if Bishop was correct, the Greybeards were looking for her.

The back of her head began to burn uncomfortably when her mind wandered to the upcoming journey.

But maybe it would help. Maybe they knew of a way to make the pain stop when she would consume a dragon’s soul, or maybe they knew of a way to control the power she let out by Shouting.

Even last time, when she was relatively far away from Bishop and Karnwyr while Shouting, she worried it may somehow hurt them. That strange force was invisible – it seemed to be directed where she was facing but the radius and the distance were a bit murky. And she couldn’t really rely on her limited experience with that power. She already hurt Bishop with it once and she was too wary of it happening again.

As they entered the cavern, they were greeted by an unexpected sight.

The cavern walls were narrow but covered with lush ivy and other vines, the ground was filled with a myriad of wild flowers and grasses, creating a beautiful thick carpet. In the middle of the cavern entrance a spring was streaming gently, continuing its journey somewhere deeper beneath the earth. There was chirping and buzzing echoing through the narrow entrance.

They continued on through the lush vegetation until the cavern opened up before them.

The ceiling was open, surrounded by a tall cavernous wall. The inside was filled with a plethora of trees, bushes grasses and flowers. There were birds, insects and butterflies soaring through the air and wading through the grass. In the distance a large waterfall was flowing freely from the edge of the opened ceiling, sparkling enchantingly in the midday sun.

A large Cliffside was situated at the end of a winding green path filled with large dark brown roots. On top of the cliff, illuminated by a ray of sun, a great tree was towering with a lush crown of light pink leaves, falling slowly and calmly on the ground below it.

The view was breathtaking. Neither of them said a word as they slowly continued on towards the large tree in the distance.

Karnwyr ran off in the meantime, chasing after the birds and other critters playfully, disappearing into the thick vegetation.

“Welcome, pilgrims,” a voice came out of nowhere, making them both look around in surprise.

A man came out of the thickets, wrapped in a small tunic made out of leaves, a long cloak reminiscent of a spider’s webbing flowing behind him, strangely unaffected by the thorny growths around. He had a colorful wreath of flowers on his strawberry blond waist-long hair and a simple amulet with the shape of a flower petal hanging around his neck.

“Are you here to pay your respects to our mother Kynareth?” he asked calmly.

“Yes. And we also come on behalf of one of her priestesses in Whiterun. The Gildergreen is dying and we need the sap of the Eldergleam to restore it,” Aeyrin nodded at him amicably.

The man observed them for a while, looking over their equipment, pausing at the ready weapons.

“You come ready for battle, under pretense of friendship. Flaunting nature’s lessons,” he gave them a disapproving look, but didn’t move in any other way, not even to take on a defensive stance.

“What? What do you mean? I only came to help restore the tree. We’re not here to attack anyone,” Aeyrin looked at him in confusion.

“You come to take from the Eldergleam to restore which nature has taken in its great cycle. Nature’s goal is not to restore but to grow anew. What is taken makes room for a glorious spring.”

Aeyrin looked at him for a while, deep in thought. He was right about Kynareth’s teaching of renewal, but it was only a little sap. Wouldn’t it be worth the life of the great tree in Whiterun?

“Are you gonna stop us?” Bishop narrowed his eyes at the man, he didn’t move for his weapon, but stood at the ready.

“No, you may pass as you like. Nature’s fury defends her glory.”

They continued along the vague path among the thickets, spotting several more worshippers along the way, all clad in similar trappings as the man, all eyeing them with unease and trepidation.

Aeyrin was still quiet, thinking to herself. There was a large chunk of dead tree in Whiterun. Would anyone even remove it? Would anything new ever grow on the ground, no doubt continuously trampled by the villagers? It was only sap after all.

They went on along the winding path, the place of peace and beauty suddenly very ominous and foreboding.

As they ascended, the giant roots of the Eldergleam started to move subtly until one of them hit the ground with a great slam, blocking their path firmly.

It was a sign.

What she was going to do was wrong. It was clear as day now.

“Great. What now? Hack at it? Or maybe that’s what the dagger’s for,” Bishop grumbled, looking over his shoulder at the worshippers down below, still expecting them to attack at any moment.

He was right, that dagger was the one that cut Gildergreen from Eldergleam in the first place.

But to cut into the roots of more than a thousand year old tree seemed like sacrilege. No. There had to be another way. Some way which would help preserve Kynareth’s influence in Whiterun and not hurt the tree.

She couldn’t follow Danica blindly just because she was a priestess. She couldn’t let herself lose her teachings in difficult situations. Blessings and favors… those were all she ever sought. Just because a way was different from what she expected, didn’t mean it wasn’t the right one. Just because something caused her pain, it didn’t mean it wasn’t meant to help. It was selfish of her to hide it. It was selfish to presume she knew better.

“He was right,” Aeyrin turned to Bishop after a long while, shaking her head sadly. “I won’t use the dagger.”

Bishop studied her face for a while. She seemed… different, more determined. “So that’s it? We came here for nothing?” he frowned. It seemed odd for her to give up on helping the temple.

“Not nothing,” she smiled. “Didn’t you want to show me everything worth seeing in Skyrim?” she chuckled at him lightly, turning back towards the large cavern, beautiful and wild.

Bishop’s mouth quirked upwards. It was a nice place. That ominous feeling was suddenly all gone, as if their harmless intents were laid bare.

Before they turned to leave, the large root blocking their path creaked and shuffled before moving out of the way completely.

They shared a surprised look but continued along the clear path, running a little while they were under the root, in case it decided to smash again.

They made their way all the way to the Eldergleam, the chirping and buzzing around them intensifying.

The tree looked calm and serene, glowing in the midday sun, enveloping them in a strange feeling, like there was nothing and no one else in the world besides the scene they saw before them.

Aeyrin approached the tree slowly. The nearer she got, the more at peace she felt, like she used to deep in meditation in the temple.

The gentle pink leaves seemed to fall faster around her and there was a strange rustling heard from the tree’s crown.

Suddenly, there under her feet, she noticed it.

A small sapling was springing from the ground, offering itself to her – a new life to replace the lost.

She bent down carefully, digging her hands into the earth and pulling the young tree from it, cradling it in her hands, staring at it in wonder.

Bishop looked at her for what seemed like an eternity.

She was standing there, under the great tree, the small pink petals falling everywhere around her, catching in her golden hair. The light illuminated her, making her skin glitter. She clutched a small sapling, looking at it with her black sparkling eyes. She looked like all the worry disappeared from her face, like her fears were a distant memory.

She looked so beautiful.

He fished around in his pack, not taking his eyes off her, pulled out a burlap sack and ripped its bottom off. He walked over to her, a bit hesitant to disturb the scene at first. But he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

He approached her and standing in front of her he opened the bottom of the sac, waiting for her to place the sapling with the soil into it so that they could carry it and keep it alive. As she placed the young tree inside and palmed the sac slightly to tamp the soil he placed his hands on hers, stroking them lightly.

She tilted her head upwards towards him and when she gave him a smile, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and captured her lips in a passionate kiss, moving one of his hands at the small of her back to pull her closer to him.

She outstretched her arm which was holding the sapling to prevent it from being crushed between their bodies as she placed her other hand firmly on his back, digging her fingers into his leather armor, pushing herself as close against him as their equipment allowed.

When they parted, he brushed a few of the pink leaves from her hair, giving her a lopsided grin, his enthralled expression replaced by his familiar charmingly smug one. “You looked too irresistible, princess,” he draped his arm over her shoulder, as she nuzzled her head against his chest lightly, still blushing deeply after that kiss.

“Come. We should leave before the tree gets prissy again,” he chuckled as they reluctantly left the serene place in peace again.

The worshippers down under the winding path greeted them happily, commending them for their restraint.

They told them that the sapling will take time to grow, but that it would produce a beautiful strong tree. They ensured them that Kynareth’s blessing would keep the sapling alive on their journey if they kept it watered.

They took out their largest empty potion bottle, carefully placing the sapling in the soil and sac inside and filled it with water, storing it in Aeyrin’s pack in a way that the small crown would stick out and get plenty of sun and air.

They would have to be a bit more careful about preserving it but the worshippers assured them that it would even survive Skyrim’s extreme cold and strong wind.

Karnwyr joined them after a while, likely getting tired of chasing birds and ready to find some real prey.

They left the cavern soon enough, ready for the next part of their journey.

…

They spotted another giant in the distance when they were on their way from the Sanctuary. At Aeyrin’s insistence and with Bishop’s constant complaints, they spent some time taking the bulk of the usable meat off the dead mammoth so that the villagers didn’t risk their lives in giant territory and headed back towards Darkwater Crossing.

…

The grateful villagers insisted on celebrating again that night.

They spent the evening at their camp.

Aeyrin was entertaining them with a few songs and tales while Derkeethus actually convinced Bishop to teach him some basics of archery and swordsmanship, in case the Argonian ever got himself in trouble again.

They left in the morning, heading for the village of Ivarstead lying at the base of the large mountain.

Aeyrin seemed more at ease with visiting the sages on top. At one time, she even casually referred to herself as the Dragonborn while making a joke, much to Bishop’s surprise.

He enjoyed her newfound self-assurance, there seemed to be more life to her. He smiled as he remembered the sight of her up by that tree. She always looked beautiful, even battle-worn and filthy, but that sight was something else.

He himself was surprised at how taken with her he could get. He never found a woman this enthralling. Maybe it was because most of his dalliances began just as chaotically and swiftly as they ended.

It was different this time – perhaps because she rejected his advances at first. Because he came to like her company before they got physical and now was worried that if he rushed anything, it would ruin what they already had.

Dammit, he was thinking like some milk-drinking bard. But every day it became more and more apparent that she was worth the wait.


	21. The Night Before

They continued through the Rift towards the Throat of the World.

Bishop subtly directed them far enough from Lost Knife again, just in case. He still wasn’t sure how she would react if someone recognized him. It did at times occur to him that he still had a bounty on his head from the High King himself, but it was so long ago he assumed no one would even remember let alone recognize him. His presence in Thorn’s group, on the other hand, was far more recent and his family was still somewhat legendary among the bandits. Besides, those assholes held grudges.

They reached the village of Ivarstead before sundown.

They passed a man in an overly fancy garb, mumbling something about ‘finally getting out of that stinking dump’, leaving Karnwyr at the tavern entrance and headed in.

“Welcome to Vilemyr Inn,” the Nord behind the bar called out to them.

The tavern was pretty empty, with only a serving girl sweeping up around the tables and another guest sitting quietly in the corner – likely a traveler.

They took their turns in the baths and ordered some food and by the time they sat down to eat and have a drink, the inn started to fill up with villagers, making it surprisingly crowded for a small town tavern.

The serving girl picked up a lute and started to sing, several villagers joining her enthusiastically.

Bishop grumbled in annoyance while Aeyrin watched them with a smile.

“Come on, they’re having fun. Be happy for them,” Aeyrin poked his arm, turning her head back to the villagers.

He rolled his eyes but then smirked, leaning close to her on the bench they shared, brushing her hair away from her ear.

“You know, we should have our own fun. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck up there with the boring geezers,” his warm breath tickled her ear and neck, making her shiver involuntarily.

She felt her cheeks flush, suddenly feeling very tempted to take him up on his offer. She shook her head, internally chastising herself to get back her composure.

“Bishop…” she sighed, “we never even talked about… what happened.” She looked at the table bashfully, not even sure what she wanted him to say. She felt like she trusted him, like the doubts she had were unfounded, but she still couldn’t help but think of them from time to time.

Her own situation wasn’t making things better. Who knew what would be required of her, if she could put him through the danger? She cared about him enough, but she didn’t want him for a quick night of ‘fun’, not if it meant they would part soon after.

And she didn’t feel ready to make that kind of commitment herself, with her purpose here still so uncertain.

“What’s there to talk about, sweetness?” he leaned in even closer, his arm draping over her lower back, pulling her to him, his lips brushing just below her ear.

His hand moved to the back of her neck as he planted his lips on her more firmly, his teeth grazing lightly along her neckline.

She whimpered quietly, but pulled away a little after a few seconds.

He knew she wouldn’t want to sleep with him right then, but he still couldn’t stop himself from touching her and teasing her. He wanted her so badly. He nuzzled his face into her neck for a bit, biting at her earlobe. He had to chuckle as he felt her shiver.

“Bishop… I’m not… it’s too soon… I…” he pulled her in for a deep kiss before she could finish her thought. That’s the least he could get.

“I can wait,” he rumbled into her ear as he moved his lips back towards her neck briefly before pulling away from her.

He smirked as he watched her place the back of her hand to her reddened cheeks, not sure whether she was trying to avoid eye contact or bashfully peeking at him from under her long lashes – it was the first time he couldn’t discern where her all-black eyes were looking.

“We can still have a different kind of fun though,” he gave her a wink and got up from the small table they shared, coming back in a little while with two tankards.

“What’s this?” she gave him a curious look.

“It’s called Dragon’s Breath,” he grinned at her. “Seemed fitting. And it’s damn good. I’m gonna need more of these if I’m supposed to put up with that noise,” he inclined his head towards the laughing and cheering villagers.

Aeyrin smelled the beverage first – it seemed strong. But then again, she might as well have some mindless fun before meeting the Greybeards. Who knows what responsibilities she will have to take on after?

She drank some. It gave her a burning sensation at the back of her throat but it wasn’t as strong as that Cyrodiilic whiskey she once had with a few Dunmer travelers at the Imperial Bridge Inn… that was an embarrassing evening in the end.

…

“You promised!” she laughed at him, reaching out for the bow fastened to the back of his pack.

“It was no contest even when you were sober,” he smirked smugly, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her back to sit back on the bench.

She was pretty drunk already. He himself was feeling a bit lightheaded, but it was nothing compared to what he was used to. She _did_ insist on having the archery competition they talked about some time ago.

“Besides, what do I get when I win?” he gave her a suggestive smile followed by a hearty laugh.

“ _If_ you are going to win. And you’re not,” she launched herself again at the pack lying on the ground beside him but he held her back again.

“Not so fast, ladyship. I’ll only do the contest if I know what I get out of it. You better make it good,” he looked her in the eyes, his own a bit glossy and daring.

“I’m not doing… _that_ with you! I told you already!” she pouted, her look lingering for a while on his eyes, then his mouth before she put on a determined face.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry sweetness. I have another deal for you,” he pulled her closer, eliciting a yelp of surprise from her as he wrapped his hands behind her back looking at her with a sudden intensity.

He leaned his face close to her, whispering in her ear in a low voice: “When I win, you’re going to do exactly as I say. For the rest of the night.”

Her face flushed, that seemed dangerous… why did it make her feel excited?

“How’s that different?” she scoffed, pulling back from him, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.

He laughed mischievously for a while before his expression turned pondering. “How about this: I promise, I won’t make you do anything with me that we haven’t done before now,” he smiled at her now much more gently, brushing back a strand of her hair.

“Not just you! You won’t make me do anything like that with anyone!” she retorted, trying hard to think of any stupid loopholes he could come up with. She expected him to laugh that she saw through him but he gave her a scowl instead, leaning close again.

“As if I would _ever_ share you,” he scoffed derisively. The remark make her redden deeply again, forming a strange pit in her stomach. It was odd to see such possessiveness in him when not so long ago, he was happy enough watching anyone in Riften proposition her for wearing that amulet.

“What... what do I get if I win?” she stuttered a bit, still caught a bit off guard by his intensity.

His serious face turned back into a smug smirk. “You won’t. But if it makes you feel better, you can order me around for the night,” he paused for a while. “I won’t even hold you to the same restrictions,” he chuckled, considering for a while if he should lose on purpose. She was drunk enough; it was possible she would throw some of those reservations away.

Then again, he really didn’t want her to regret it the next day. Besides, having her do his bidding was all too tempting.

She nodded slowly, her eyes still narrowed warily.

…

They left the tavern, travelling a little bit away from the village into the forest beyond the river.

Karnwyr followed them curiously, likely hoping for a nighttime hunting trip.

Bishop set out an empty bottle on a tree stump some distance away. It was dark but the glass reflected the moonlight well enough to be seen.

He took out his bow, turning to Aeyrin: “The first one to miss loses, does that sound fair, ladyship?”

Aeyrin nodded. The bottle seemed really far. Why did she agree to this again? The cold fresh air was sobering her up perhaps more than necessary to go along with this particularly idiotic bet.

Bishop made a line in the soil with his boot and stepped behind it, aiming his bow casually, barely even looking at his target.

Only a second later a telltale shatter echoed through the wood as his arrow hit the target.

“You should know, princess, I never miss my mark,” he smirked smugly, handing her the bow and walking towards the stump to put on another bottle.

She wavered slightly as she put herself into a position to aim.

Bishop walked back over and looked her over critically. After a while he sighed: “Let’s make this at least a little challenging.”

He stepped behind her, very closely, he took her arms in his, veering them slightly to one side, then he balled his fist and gently pressed it against her spine to straighten her back more.

He still held her as she drew the bow, aiming at the bottle. He adjusted her aim a bit more, then whispered in her ear: “Let go.”

She let the arrow swish through the air as the familiar shattering sound resounded a second later.

“That was a free one. Next time, you’re on your own,” he smirked, letting go of her.

He walked a little further away this time, setting another bottle on a protruding rock. Where was he getting all those bottles from anyways?

He returned and took his bow from her, again barely even looking at his target. He would win for sure; she needed something to distract him. She considered doing something to make Karnwyr bark out, but he likely knew not to disturb Bishop while aiming – he was watching him intently, at times pricking up his ears to see if there was actually any prey present.

Getting out of ideas, she made sure to be fully in his field of peripheral vision as she stretched languidly, her white tunic making the curves of her body nicely visible in the moonlight. In a moment a shatter echoed again, but Bishop’s eyes were firmly planted on her body.

“Playing dirty, are you?” he smirked, still rowing his eyes over her form. “And here I thought you priests weren’t allowed to do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she blushed and tried to give him an innocent smile. He only laughed in response, going to set the target for her.

She did her best to get in the same position he showed her before, straightening her back and veering the aim a little. She took a deep breath and let the arrow lose. Was she even hoping to win? The thought of losing still made her strangely excited. She also had no idea what she would order Bishop to do. Anything she would consider embarrassing or daring would likely be nothing extraordinary for him.

A shatter sounded through the woods again and she felt a small singe of disappointment. What was wrong with her?

Bishop did look a bit surprised that she made the shot. He didn’t even comment on it.

He walked further still, propping a bottle on a low tree branch. It was really difficult to see now, the leaves were hiding the glass from the moonlight well.

He took his bow, his eyes now fastened on his mark. It seemed he didn’t feel so sure of his victory now. He took a knee, adjusting his aim, looking over at her for a while, likely trying to discern whether she would try to distract him again.

She didn’t, her eyes were on the tree and there was a sudden tension between them.

Bishop let the arrow fly through the air, again hitting the target perfectly. He let out a deep sigh, exuding a bit more palpable relief then he was comfortable with. He quickly went to put another bottle in without a word.

She aimed the bow and neither of them spoke.

Karnwyr was dead quiet behind them too, not daring to disturb her concentration.

She wondered if she should lose on purpose. No, she couldn’t have wanted to, could she? What did she even think he would make her do? It was likely going to be embarrassing, something he would mock her for for a long time to come. But she didn’t think he would want to humiliate her purposefully. He seemed so sincere when he told her he would wait for her to be ready. She smiled lightly, thinking of that.

But she couldn’t let him win just because she trusted him not to do anything too bad. She didn’t even expect to be able to challenge him. She aimed properly, straining her eyes to see the glint of the bottle.

She let the arrow go, the woods suddenly so quiet as if holding their breath in anticipation.

A subtle thud echoed through the trees in a while.

Bishop gave a little smirk but went over towards the tree to check. He found the arrow firmly planted in the branch, only a hair’s breadth below the intact bottle.

He walked back, the bottle in hand.

“Well, what do you know…” he laughed, handing the bottle to her, taking back his bow in return.

“Pfft… you know it wasn’t…”

He raised his index finger to her before she could finish her protest: “No talking until I say so, sweetness.”

Her eyes went a little wide at him but she obeyed. It was fairly won after all and she did feel really curious about how the rest of the night would play out.

If nothing else, it would be a lesson for her towards the future never to bet on her archery skills again.


	22. Promises

He led her back towards the tavern, Karnwyr whining in disappointment at the lack of action during their outing.

They sat back at the table as Bishop let his pack fall back on the ground with a loud thud.

The tavern was still really lively, the patrons constantly laughing and singing while some of them appeared to be wobbling considerably more than when they left.

Bishop pushed Aeyrin’s tankard towards her, still half full of their second serving of Dragon’s Breath.

“First, drink. Down in one,” he commanded.

She looked at the liquid hesitantly but didn’t say anything. She took a deep breath and started to pour the strong mead into her mouth, ignoring the unpleasant burning at the back of her throat. Her eyes watered a bit as she tried hard to keep her breathing calm and not gagging on the amount of the hard liquor but she managed in the end, putting the tankard down with a hoarse cough.

Bishop gave her a pleased smirked, then he leaned in, his face suddenly serious: “Here’s the thing, ladyship. You need to loosen up a little. You say you want to experience all the life outside your temple, but you can’t really do that while you still shy away from half of it.”

She gave him a frown, eyeing him warily.

“I gave you a promise and I’ll keep that,” his eyes turned strangely sincere for a bit. “I’ll give you another one. I promise I won’t make you do anything you’ll regret.”

He paused for a bit, looking around the tavern, stopping at the singing server and the crowd around her, a smile forming on his lips.

“Do you trust me, sweetness?” he turned back to her, his eyes looking deeply into hers.

She smiled demurely, nodding at him.

He got up and walked towards the crowd, stopping by the serving girl and explaining something to her vehemently, inclining his head towards Aeyrin a few times. Aeyrin was eyeing him with suspicion when he returned, motioning for the bartender to get them two more tankards.

“We drink another one. Then you’re gonna sing for me,” he smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes at him with a smile, shrugging her shoulders. She did expect something she hasn’t done before.

“Not here though, you’re gonna get on top of the bar, sing and dance. The girl will play something for you,” he smirked at her, realizing himself after a while: “Right. You can talk now.”

Aeyrin shook her head at him frantically. “I can’t dance! And what if I don’t know the song she plays?” she gave him an accusing look. Whenever she heard a bard play in Skyrim, she never recognized any of the songs. They were all so… Nordic. All about some ancient heroic deeds and war. She liked the songs she learned in Cyrodiil much more, about daring pirates, noble thieves or star-crossed lovers.

“So?” he laughed. “You’ll make something up. Isn’t art to be ‘celebrated in all forms’ or something like that?”

She gave him a pleading look, but he only smirked again, raising his tankard, gouging her to drink too.

“You throw yourself at giants and dragons with no hesitation and now you’re scared?” he laughed taking a large swig of his drink. “Also, you’re matching me drink for drink tonight. Whenever I’m done with the mug, you’re downing the rest of yours,” he winked.

“I thought you wanted me to loosen up, not kill myself,” she grumbled, trying to drink as much of her drink as she could so that there wouldn’t be a lot left after.

Bishop finished his drink rather quickly but she managed to keep up, her head was spinning wildly though. He motioned for two more drinks and then signaled the serving girl.

She walked towards the bar, bringing her lute with her, talking to the innkeeper for a while who rolled his eyes but nodded eventually.

Bishop led Aeyrin towards the bar while she wobbled a bit, at times trying to escape him. Her cheeks were a shade of deep red, both from the drink and from the embarrassment.

“My friends, today we have a travelling bardess vising us. She wanted to entertain you all with a song and a dance.”

The crowd, highly inebriated, started to hoot and cheer.

Aeyrin tried to hide into Bishop’s chest, blushing fiercely but instead he grabbed her waist firmly and pulled her up on the bar, eliciting a yelp from her. He gave her a smug smirk as he stepped back a bit, folding his arms across his chest expectantly.

She stood up on the bar, stumbling a bit, the ground below her spinning and her vision a bit blurry. The crowd gathered around, most of them staggering even worse than she was. One of the drunken men yelled at her to get naked, getting a laugh from the crowd and making her even more embarrassed. Normally, singing was the only time she didn’t feel overwhelmed by attention and crowds, but this time it was different. The knowledge, that this performance was in no way to celebrate art, but rather to embarrass her made her all too anxious.

The served cleared her throat to quiet them and struck up a tune.

Aeyrin heard it before, somewhere in Skyrim, but she couldn’t really recall it. Some words came to her vaguely, but mostly her mind was blank. She started to sway to the music, feeling rather like a shot animal on its last legs. She tried hard to remember the words and started to sing, slurring her speech lightly every now and then:

.

_There once was a… Nord named… someone… the Bad_

_He was riding to Whiterun from… because he was sad!_

_And that… Nord… he waved… waved around his blade,_

_And he… bragged and… drank mead…. and he never paid!_

_But then… he went quiet… ‘cause someone got… mad_

_And… I think there was…. a woman? She said..._

_You talk… don’t pay …. and drink all the mead!_

_And… that’s bad… so… now you bleed!_

_And… then they fought…. she fed him the grass…_

_'Cause he drank all the mead… and he was an ass!_

.

Despite her clear ignorance of this possibly very popular song, the crowd seemed entertained.

She wasn’t even sure if she managed to fit the words to the music and she staggered back and forth at the bar, at times kicking out with her feet clumsily.

The crowd however found the performance very satisfying, laughing loudly at her cheerful stumbling and the excited expression in her face every time she actually thought of a rhyme. Some of them were hooting loudly and there were one or two more or less sober Nords in the back who seemed a bit disgruntled, but most of the patrons clapped excitedly at the mangled song.

Aeyrin giggled and took a bow proudly, her anxiety completely gone, replaced only by jovial merriment. When she straightened back up, however, her balance betrayed her and she stumbled, her feet twisting over each other as she plummeted off the bar.

Before she ever realized what happened she found herself in Bishop’s arms, one of his arms around her back, the other below her knees.

The crowd clapped again and hooted at his nimble reaction, some of them yelling for him to put her back so that she could sing again.

Bishop ignored them, holding her to his chest, looking deeply into her glassy eyes.

“Kiss me,” he commanded her again.

She didn’t even think before she obeyed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. The aftertaste of the strong mead on his lips was so sweet like honey with a strange fiery sting to it. They kissed for a while, the crowd laughing around and yelling at them.

“Hey, put her back, I wanna catch her next time!” one of them giggled sloppily, pulling Bishop by the shoulder.

Bishop sat her on the bar swiftly, his lips never parting from hers, his tongue eagerly probing her mouth. He pushed the drunkard away from him pulling himself more firmly against her, nestled between her thighs, her breasts pressed against his upper chest as his hands roamed her back, sliding slowly lower.

She was starting to feel really dizzy, her head spinning both from her inebriation and from the intense kiss.

One of her hands left his surprisingly soft hair, she swung it towards the bar, trying to support herself, to ensure she wasn’t falling. Her hand hit something on the way, a shatter echoing on the ground behind the bar.

“Off! And you’re paying for that!” she was suddenly pushed off the bar, stumbling into both Bishop and one of the bar stools.

This made them part at last, both breathing heavily as some of the patrons still hollered and laughed at them.

“Come,” Bishop said suddenly, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her from the tavern, away from the loud crowd.

They ran outside, still out of breath.

The night was so quiet. The only sounds around were the crickets and rustling of leaves in the wind.

Before she could catch her breath properly, Bishop spun her around, pinning her to the wooden wall of the tavern.

His mouth descended on hers again, continuing the passionate exchange. His hands grasped her wrists and pressed them against the wall, leaving her completely trapped.

She wasn’t able to think rationally, the world was spinning around her, all she was able to think about was his hard muscular body pressed against her, the sweet taste of mead on his tongue, his strong arms gripping her firmly. She was becoming more and more aware of the strangely pleasant pit in her stomach. Everything seemed to be happening so fast and in such chaos. She normally hated that; she got overwhelmed so quickly. Why was this different?

His grip loosened as his hands stroked over her arms, traveling over her flanks, brushing lightly at the sides of her breasts. She felt her breath catch in her throat at his touch, his lips moving towards her jaw, then her neck, kissing her wildly and softly biting her flesh.

His hands continued their journey over her back and lower, settling firmly on her backside, squeezing it tightly.

He suddenly grasped the back of her upper thighs, hoisting her upwards, pressing her against the wall. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he pinned her even more firmly against him, eliciting a surprised gasp from her. His lips moved eagerly towards her cleavage, his hips pressing into her, making himself grind against her a few times, his excitement at their ministration palpable through their clothing.

She moaned softly, not being able to help herself. She was still unable to think clearly, her head only filled with the unfamiliar sensations, surprising jolts coursing through her body with every movement he made.

A second later he pulled back, letting her land on her feet weakly, an alarmed expression etched on his face for a split second before an exasperated smirk appeared instead.

“Fuck, sweetness,” he breathed heavily as she tried to steady herself against the wall. “You make it so fucking hard to keep that promise.”

He stroked her cheek, the frantic mood gone with his suddenly gentle approach. “Go back inside. I’m… gonna need a minute,” he cringed a bit but she obeyed immediately, running back into the tavern to gather her thoughts.

…

“There you are!”

She yelped in surprise as she staggered into one of the drunken patrons. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her closer, making her falter on her wobbly feet.

“I want a kiss too!” his face started to get dangerously close to her, his grip seemed stronger than he looked. His breath smelled like old eggs and ale and his thick beard was full of either spilled drink or in worse case his own saliva.

“No! Let go!” Aeyrin cried out, trying to pull away, but his firm grip didn’t let her.

There were some voices calling out to them from other sides of the tavern but he didn’t seem fazed, determinedly pulling Aeyrin towards him.

Everything was still so fast. She didn’t have time to think. She hated that feeling now.

Her fist clenched almost without her knowledge as it shot up, hitting the man square in the jaw, making him sputter a bit of blood on her tunic before he toppled to the ground.

He groaned in pain, pulling himself up on his feet.

Aeyrin stared at him in shock. She’s never attacked a civilian, even if they were being aggressive. This really wasn’t her idea of loosening up.

“Are you alright?”

She blinked as she looked around, the server was looking at her with a worried expression, the man she attacked was yelling something, raising his fist at her as the innkeeper was dragging him outside forcefully.

“Sorry about him, we don’t really know him around here… probably one of the pilgrims. He’s not welcome here anymore, that’s for sure,” the server smiled at her warmly, putting her hand on her shoulder. “Maybe no more drinks tonight. It seems it’s got out of hand,” she sighed, pulling a rag from her apron and cleaning the blood spattered on the ground.

“What’s with the horker-fucker yelling outside?” she heard Bishop chuckle as he returned to the tavern, the serving girl still cleaning the blood on the floor while she stood still, trying to compose herself.

“He got a little friendly with your friend here and earned himself some missing teeth,” the server smirked as she straightened up.

Bishop looked Aeyrin up and down, his eyebrows creasing in a frown, then a surprised expression appeared on his face as he noticed the blood on her tunic.

“ _You_ punched him?” he smirked, looking a bit impressed.

“I… I didn’t mean to… it was… so fast,” Aeyrin stuttered.

This was not how she was supposed to deal with problems, hurting people as her first response. He was drunk and probably didn’t even know what he was doing.

“You didn’t mean to? Why not?” the server laughed. “He had it coming,” she turned to Bishop nodding with approval.

The server went back towards the bar while Bishop was still looking at Aeyrin, watching the turmoil on her face.

“Come, sit,” he nodded towards their table after a while.

She followed him, trying to replay in her head all that happened. It was so vague and blurry, she remembered his arms holding her firmly, but surely if she tried harder, or waited for the other patrons to help…

“What’s with you? The girl says he was bothering you. Why are you so upset over it?” Bishop frowned at her.

“I could have… handled it different… differently,” she lowered her gaze, slurring her words a bit. Her head was still spinning but she couldn’t get the image of that man on the ground out of her head.

“You handled it fine. He stopped, didn’t he? Problem solved,” he shrugged.

The server brought them both a mug of water in the meantime, despite the full tankards of strong mead in front of them.

“Violence should only… be a last resort… there are other…”

“Really?” he interrupted her, “Because you don’t seem that fucking concerned when you go chasing after skooma traders.”

Her eyes flashed with anger for a while, the same way they did back in Riften: “Those people ruin lives for… for gold. World needs to be rid of… of them.”

Bishop smirked: “Yeah… some people need a blade in their gut… or a mace in their face. Some need a good punch.”

“I don’t want to deal with… things like that…” she sighed sadly, still feeling ashamed for betraying her teachings. She met and healed plenty of drunks and otherwise delirious people in the temple. Sometimes they struggled and got aggressive, but it was her duty to help and never to fight back.

“He was drunk… he wasn’t responsible for…” she sighed.

“ _You’re_ drunk,” he smirked.

“S’not… not the same…” she wavered for a bit. She was still really drunk… maybe that’s why the incident got to her that much.

“It was his own damn fault he was drunk. Or do you hold everyone to that? Because fuck, princess, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have stopped,” he gave her a suggestive look followed by a laugh.

She thought of what he said for a while… suddenly thinking of her father for some reason. He was not responsible for what he did in his delirium, but she still felt bitter towards him. Why? He was sick and he was never helped. Why was she angry at him then? It was her own failing, not willing to let go of past hurts when she knew better, when she knew they should be forgiven. Her head was starting to hurt.

“Last orders, sweetness,” Bishop pushed the mug of water towards her, seeing her conflicted expression, her eyes still glassy… well… as glassy as they could be, her cheeks still red from the strong mead.

She drank the water obligingly, waiting for him to continue. She didn’t feel like playing games anymore, but she did agree to the terms.

Bishop draped his arm over her shoulder, pressing her close to him, then laying a surprisingly gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispered with an encouraging smile.

She couldn’t help but smile at how caring he seemed at times. She nuzzled her head into his chest, trying her best to keep her mind off those thoughts.

She thought back on the happenings of the evening before the incident. It was all somewhat blurry, but she did remember the feeling clearly – his lips on her skin, his arms enveloping her, hands stroking her flesh. She was grateful that he stopped, because she might not have been able to.

“Let’s go to bed, princess,” he gave her another kiss on her head and stood up, his hand still on her shoulder as he led her to his room.

She gave him a questioning look when he closed the doors behind them, but after what happened outside, she was sure she could trust him to keep his promise.

“To be fair, we _did_ share a bed before,” he smirked as he kicked off his boots, laying himself on the bed against the wall and outstretching his arms, reminding her exactly of the night at the hunter’s rest.

She only shook her head with an exasperated smile, lying next to him, making herself comfortable against his body, glad not to be alone for the rest of the night.


	23. The First Step

A splitting headache woke her up.

Her throat was sore, she was parched and she felt the light uncomfortably sting her even under her closed eyelids.

Bishop’s arm was draped around her stomach, still asleep, he flexed it around her from time to time pressing her closer to him, her back to his chest and her backside nestled to his groin making her uncomfortably aware of their closeness. He _was_ really warm though…

She opened her eyes carefully, still getting blind sighted by the bright morning sun.

She tried to untangle herself from him but his arm grappled her more tightly and he let out a subconscious grumble. His face moved closer to the back of her head, burying itself in her hair.

His arm loosened the grip for a while and she thought she would be able to move, but the palm of his hand still rested firmly against her stomach as he pressed himself closer to her, groaning lightly in between his calm heavy breathing.

“Bishop,” she put her hand on his, shaking it lightly to wake him up.

He stirred half-heartedly, nuzzling his head deeper in her tresses, his hot breath tickling the back of her neck. Unconsciously, his hand moved up, making her yelp in surprise as it reached her breast, squeezing it lightly.

“Bishop!” she cried out, her voice hoarse as she firmly took his hand in hers and snagged it away from her chest.

“Huh… what?” he finally awakened, pulling himself away from her, lying on his back. “Ow… fuck,” he placed his hand on his forehead, dragging it down across his face.

She sat up, a sharp pain stinging her brow. She put her head in her palms, trying to ease the pain, but it didn’t help.

Bishop moved to sit on the bed beside her, letting out a weary smirk: “Well, we still have our clothes on.”

She chuckled lightly into her hands, daring to raise her head and look at him: “Yeah, though you were getting kind of… cuddly just now.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, hissing in pain promptly, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. “’Cuddly’? I don’t get ‘cuddly’, ladyship,” he shook his head.

“Right…” she rolled her eyes with a smirk.

“Besides, you didn’t seem to mind last night,” he chuckled, punching her arm lightly.

She blushed, the images of last night’s happening flashing in her head. There were a lot of things she didn’t mind last night. She was really glad for the promise he gave her, her inhibitions seemed to be completely obliterated by the alcohol and she hardly wanted for her first time being this intimate with someone to be the result of a drunken stupor.

“So… any regrets?” he smirked, getting up from the bed and checking if nothing was missing from his pack.

She thought about that for a little while. They got a little wilder together than she would have expected last night and the memory of her horrible singing and dancing on the bar did make her flush in embarrassment, but she did notice herself smiling at the memories.

There was that punch, but she chased the thought from her mind quickly. For some reason it made her think of her father again and she refused to let her mind get into that.

“No,” she gave him a warm smile. “Though I’m not sure I can show my face in there,” she smirked, inclining her head towards the door to the common room.

“Please, they loved it,” he laughed.

They gathered their things and headed out to the common room, ordering a breakfast and an ale to chase away the hangover at least a little.

“There’s our famous bard,” the serving girl chuckled as she brought them their order.

“Sorry, about that,” Aeyrin mumbled, blushing fiercely.

The woman smiled at her, pulling up a chair to their table for a while as the rest of the tavern was completely empty.

“Don’t be. It was probably the most entertaining song we heard around here in some time,” she laughed “I’m Lynly, by the way. What brought you two here?”

“I’m Aeyrin and this is Bishop. We’re traveling to the monastery,” Aeyrin have her a friendly smile.

“Oh. You’re pilgrims? You look more… armed then regular pilgrims,” she gave them a wry smile. “Anyway, you should know that the passes are snowed under. Only half the mountain is accessible for the pilgrims. Taking on the rest is too dangerous right now,” she gave them a sympathetic nod.

“We can handle the passes,” Bishop grumbled, drinking deeply from his tankard.

“If you think you can get all the way to High Hrothgar, maybe you could help Klimmek. He delivers some supplies for the Greybeards but couldn’t get there for the past two weeks.”

Aeyrin agreed to deliver the supplies and they talked to Lynly a while longer. She mentioned the Greybeards’ summons for the Dragonborn excitedly – apparently the news from Whiterun reached them and they have been eagerly awaiting the call ever since. It was also why so many pilgrims were around at that time, hoping to meet the Dragonborn when they arrived.

Aeyrin got really uncomfortable about that and neither of them mentioned anything about her identity. Bishop asked Lynly what she knew about the Dragonborn, to make sure no one would suspect Aeyrin and she expectedly gave him a few vague rumors, some about a stout and brave Nord, some about a foreigner coming to the Nords’ rescue, all filled with awe and admiration towards the legendary hero.

They left after breakfast, Karnwyr running circles around them excitedly after a boring night.

They stopped by Klimmek’s house to pick up the supplies, made sure the Eldergleam sapling had enough water and was secure enough not to be thrown from Aeyrin’s pack by the mountain winds and headed towards the famed Seven Thousand Steps.

…

They started their ascent to High Hrothgar before midday.

The path was winding before them and while the stone steps were largely broken and hidden in the soil, they still provided a clear guidance up the mountain.

They passed a few pilgrims, praying and meditating at some stone tablets. Aeyrin insisted on stopping to read them and ponder of their spiritual meaning on the way despite Bishop’s exaggerated eye-rolls.

The journey was a bit uneventful, the pilgrims mostly ignored them, none of them even considering that either of them could be the Dragonborn they were hoping to meet. They probably didn’t look heroic enough for their liking.

The higher they got, the chillier the wind became.

Bishop didn’t seem to mind but Aeyrin wrapped herself tightly in Bishop’s worn cloak. It was always cold in Skyrim but it was never that much worse than anything she experienced travelling around the Jerall Mountains in Cyrodiil. Now she finally started to experience real Skyrim weather. This was the highest mountain in Tamriel, so it was likely the coldest place there was. Hopefully. She worried about how much worse it would get, especially if the higher parts of the trail were really snowed under.

“Already?” Bishop laughed at her as she shivered under the cloak. They were still not even in the thick of it. There was some white powder on the ground, but the trail was still tamped down by the pilgrims. It wasn’t even snowing yet… and there was no hint of that unpleasant ice rain that was almost constant in the north. Bishop never went up the mountain to High Hrothgar, but he assumed the cold couldn’t rival the peaks around Winterhold.

“How are you not cold?” Aeyrin shook her head, trying to push the cloak over her nose and ears. After a while she gave up, letting her hair down from her practical ponytail so that it could cover her freezing ears, sighing in frustration when the tips of them still protruded from her gold-blond mane.

The cold was getting worse as they reached the areas which pilgrims no longer traveled to. The snow under their feet wasn’t trampled anymore and they had to wade through it a little.

Soft flakes started to fall on their heads, the wind picking up speed from time to time, slapping into their cheeks.

Bishop still didn’t feel that cold, but he fished out one of the blankets from his pack and draped it over the freezing Bosmer at his side.

…

Soon enough they were wading through knee-deep snow, huffing and puffing in exhaustion.

Karnwyr fell into a snowdrift more than once as he tried to tread atop the white blanket as lightly as possible.

After a while, a strange growling disturbed their ascent, as they spotted a white furry beast ahead, hiding into the snow promptly. Bishop managed to convince Aeyrin that she wouldn’t be able to fight the beast in snowbanks this high and took it out stealthily in several well-aimed shots.

They continued on, neither of them knew how far they still had to trek.

They were getting so tired from the difficult walk, but the snowbanks were no place to rest. The snowfall gained on intensity gradually, impairing their vision as the wind howled in their ears.

Aeyrin’s fingers and toes felt like they were frozen solid as she continued on, her breath getting thinner and thinner and her eyes threatened to close at every snowflake that attacked them – she couldn’t allow that however, if she closed them for longer, she could step away from the trail, plummeting down the mountain because she didn’t see the edge. Not that it was easy to see the edge even with eyes opened – the light blue skies melded dizzyingly with the heavy snowfall and the tall banks.

Suddenly their grueling journey was interrupted by a loud roar, drowning out the howling winds.

They shared a concerned look – the sound was all too familiar.

In the distance, sunrays reflected a glint of a silvery scale, the outline of the large beast barely visible in the heavy gale.

The beast was heading straight towards them – there was no retreating, no place to hide and there was no way they could ever fight in the high snowdrifts – not when it was just the three of them against a dragon.

“Stand back!” Aeyrin cried out at Bishop as he slowly stepped back away from the edge of the mountain, towards the Cliffside.

Karnwyr was whimpering as he tried to hide in the snow, away from the edge, keeping a wary eye on Bishop and Aeyrin in turns.

She turned towards the approaching beast, stepping back to have as much of the snow in front of her and still be a comfortable distance from her companions. There was no other way she could think of.

“FUS!”

The invisible force swept the snowbanks into the whirling wind, clearing the trail enough for her to be able to move.

Her muscles were weary but her determination was strong, she took out her shield and waited for the beast to approach closer as arrows whirled around her head, using the strong wind perfectly to hit the mark.

The dragon stayed some distance away, hidden by the blizzard.

She hid herself behind her shield, peeking from atop, awaiting the fire or the ice, her feet ready to roll her sideways to avoid the bulk of the attack.

“FUS RO DAH”

The sound roared through the skies, catching Aeyrin off guard.

That sounded like the same Shout she did.

She realized herself and rolled away, but it was too late. The force hit her hard, harder than she thought possible. It felt like all the bones in her body quivered uncontrollably, threatening to break. Maybe some of them did break – it was impossible to tell, there was just an intense pressure everywhere, pain spreading through her body. She felt a strange dread for a second, the fact that she used the same force against people before, hitting her with a singe of guilt. It threw her down the path, luckily keeping her on the mountain but smashing her against the cliff side.

She felt a warm liquid at the back of her head as everything began to spin. She fell face-first into the snow, the cold strangely pleasant on her face.

Bishop’s eyes went wide as he saw her flying through the air. He saw the direction she was thrown in – not off the mountain, luckily, but who knew what damage she suffered.

He aimed quickly, shooting arrow after arrow at the beast, his aim a bit more shaky than usual – it needed to die quickly so that he could get to her as soon as possible.

The dragon roared, he managed to see a vague fiery light, knowing what it meant, he ran ahead, dodging the incoming flames. Once the attack stopped, he immediately located the beast in the gale again, shooting with wild abandon.

At last he heard a pained roar and the beast soared high into the sky with great speed.

He waited, expecting it to plummet towards him, but there was nothing.

Did it escape? Maybe he wounded it badly.

He pricked up his ears and narrowed his eyes, searching the skies.

Nothing.

Good. He wasn’t sure what state she was in – she might not have survived absorbing the soul.

He ran back along the trail, seeing her lying face down in the snow.

He pulled her out of the bank as quickly as he could, her lips blue with frost, her eyes closed, her head stained with frozen blood.

He cradled her in his arms, taking her back towards the scene of the battle – the snow was melted there in large part. He laid her on the ground, quickly shuffling in his pack, searching for a healing potion. Fortunately, he managed to sit her up and force some of the liquid down her throat, making her cough and gag badly.

“Ladyship, can you hear me?” his voice was panicked.

She didn’t answer but some color returned to her face.

It was no use; the snowfall and the cold were only making things worse.

He had to get her to safety. Now.

He fastened his pack on Karnwyr’s back, giving him an apologetic look, he grabbed hers, careful not to hurt the sapling, and secured it on his own back. Then he took her in his arms again, determined to make the rest of the journey as quickly as possible.

Luckily the monastery wasn’t very far, but he was utterly exhausted.

The cold wasn’t that bad for him, but the snowbanks were too high and the Aeyrin’s weight with all her heavy equipment wasn’t helping the matters. His legs were shaking badly, but he wouldn’t let up, climbing the steps towards the large stony building with great effort.

He pushed into the heavy metal door, not enough energy to concern himself with knocking. He nearly fell inside as the door gave way, a surprised old man in grey robes with a long beard staring at him as he approached slowly.

“The Dragonborn… help her,” he managed to say between heavy breaths.

He fell to his knees but still held Aeyrin tightly in his arms, the feeling in his fingers long gone. He noticed the man reach him but his head was spinning and his vision darkening. A lot of voices were murmuring in the background.

Then all went quiet.


	24. Lessons Learnt

The quiet woke him up again.

It was so strangely unnatural. He was used to hearing the sounds of the wild – the rustling leaves and the nocturnal animals, or the hushed murmur of the taverns, crackling of the fire and the occasional noise from guests that refused to retire to their rooms.

The monastery had none of it.

The fires were doused down and the hallways were pitch-black. None of the old men even made a noise in their slumber, which was probably a good thing. They had trouble speaking without Shouting as it was, their whispers shaking the ground around them. He did not want to imagine them snoring.

He sat up, uncomfortably aware of the cold ground below his bedroll.

The Greybeards offered them shelter while they recuperated after the dragon attack, but it was a far cry from what even the wilderness could offer. They had one extra bed available and while Bishop tried to convince them that they were fine to share, the geezers seemed really opposed to the idea and insisted that he makes himself comfortable on the ground.

Now that he knew the penetrating silence that ruled the night in the monastery, he kind of understood their trepidations.

The food supplies that they delivered left a lot to be desired too.

Sure, he knew what it felt like to go hungry, but it’s been a while since he had to make do with stale bread and water.

They had some supplies from their own packs, but those ran out quickly and he left most to Aeyrin – she needed to regain her strength after the ordeal on the mountain. There wasn’t anything to hunt this high up either and so the most flavorful meal he had in the past week was half of an apple which was miraculously still spared from rot.

The living conditions were draining to their morale, the austerity spread to the bathing facilities, with only an overused sponge and a small shallow basin of water, barely reaching one’s ankles. They were lucky to be stocked with their own soaps and cleaning rags for bathing in the wild.

None of these inconveniences however could compare to the incessant boredom.

He swore in the back of his mind, stretching his sore back – at the very least the wilderness provided some cushioning under the bedrolls, here it was just cold hard stone.

Aeyrin offered multiple times to switch with him, but none of the Greybeards were adept at healing and her body was still badly bruised from the tumble into the cliffside… not to mention her ‘training’. At least the frostbite subsided.

Even though they were in desperate need of recuperation, the time spent in the monastery started to become too suffocating with little payoff.

The old men ‘trained’ Aeyrin in using the Shout and even taught her a new one which she mastered rather fast. Too fast for their liking, in fact. Once they explained to her how Thu’um works, she quickly got the feel of the reach of her power, getting more confident in her Shouting.

But the Greybeards appeared terrified at the determination in her newfound power.

It was frustrating, she needed some assurance from them, needed to make peace with what she was, to know that her powers were just another weapon to use, not some uncontrollable force, yet once they saw the ease with which she wielded them, they started spouting warnings at her, returning her anxiety and fear swiftly.

Bishop tried to assure her, but it was increasingly obvious that he wouldn’t be able to undo their damage – they spoke to her in the exact way she was taught to respond to – like preachers.

What’s more, they were absolutely no help in the issues that mattered most – their answer for weathering the pain of absorbing the souls was ‘patience’ and when Aeyrin inquired about what her new role meant and what would be expected of her, they provided nothing save for vague drivel about ‘showing her the way, not the destination’.

They didn’t even know whether there were others like her.

He tried to stretch again with a sigh but a nasty kink in his back prevented the action.

That was it.

He wasn’t going to suffer any longer because of the old farts’ inhibitions. He stealthily pulled himself up from the floor right on the bed beside him, nudging the sleeping Bosmer further towards the stone wall and curling his body around hers.

She didn’t even make a sound, just subconsciously pressed her back into his chest – that woman could sleep through anything. He draped his arm lazily across her stomach and folded the other one below his head. He didn’t care what the geezers said anymore, he was determined to finally get some sleep.

…

Aeyrin woke up to a strangely heated whispering near her.

Her eyes still felt tired but she pricked up her ears to hear the discussion better.

“… curious what would she say. Or do you make it a habit to sneak into a woman’s bed, while she’s unaware?”

She recognized Arngeir’s calm voice, it always sounded somewhat condescending when he was talking to Bishop. Come to think of it, it sounded condescending whenever they talked about her understanding of Thu’um too. It was likely he expected more from a Dragonborn and the people she kept around her. She always felt like a child being chastised when he spoke to her.

“Don’t you have other things to worry about? Like being fucking useful to her for a change?” the angry hiss in his voice made her snap to attention.

Bishop was getting increasingly agitated with the Greybeards and she feared that things would get too heated, with no other outlet around.

She sat up on her bed, rubbing her eyes wearily.

“Arngeir, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” she murmured, hoping to diffuse the situation. She didn’t even notice that Bishop was in her bed, but it’s not like she was overly concerned about that. It’s not as if he would even want to do anything around the old men and the stone floor must have felt horrible for such a long time. She didn’t really know why the Greybeards made a big deal of them sleeping separately when there was a lack of beds.

Arngeir only threw them both admonishing looks before walking away calmly – he never really argued but he let everyone know when he was displeased.

Bishop sat down on the bed beside her with an angry huff while she started to stroke his back soothingly.

“I told you we can switch if…” she gave him an encouraging smile before he interrupted her.

“You know you’re still not healed. Besides you really thing they would glare at me less for taking your bed altogether?” he grumbled, shooting an angry stare down the hall at the direction that Arngeir left.

He sighed, staring at the stone floor for a while. He thought about adjusting his sleeping schedule so that they would take turns in the bed, but somehow he wasn’t able to bring himself to miss her training. It was making his blood boil – how they constantly admonished her for being reckless with the Shouts, undermining any remaining confidence she managed to gather concerning her ‘blessing’.

He remembered all those looks of despair and fear that she had after the watchtower all too well and he knew how much she struggled to overcome the trepidations and finally accept her role with determination.

Now they were ruining it all.

“Was it like this in the temple?” he looked at her curiously after a while, the question gnawing at him for some time.

“No one really tried to crawl into my bed in the temple,” she chuckled at him, poking his arm teasingly.

“How would _you_ know? You are capable of sleeping through that,” he laughed in response.

She blushed slightly, getting a bit nervous about the implications, but decided instead to answer to his original meaning: “It was different. The Eight have varied tenets and they can’t be followed to the letter because some of them might contradict each other. The priests had to allow some measure of closeness or friendship. It was more strict about how we approached other people then each other. You know, always helping, never resorting to violence and that sort of thing. The Greybeards have a more… focused goal, they say only solitude and constant meditation can help me achieve the restrain I need,” she sighed lightly.

It was a daunting prospect, one she was reluctant to adhere to, but what else could she do? She felt the dangerous force herself – she needed to make sure her instincts couldn’t get the better of her, so that she wouldn’t hurt those she cared about ever again.

“You mean single-minded and ignorant of the outside world.”

She shook her head giving him a light peck on his cheek, probably to shut him up. He saw how much the lessons fractured her spirit but she never said anything derisive or angry about it, and whenever he started to complain about them she quickly changed the subject.

He let out a sigh as they went to join the old men for breakfast, smirking snidely as they all shot him a glare almost in unison when they approached the room.

Aeyrin tried her best to ignore the tense atmosphere, biting into the flavorless bread silently.

Arngeir turned to her, his gaze still chastising. He was the only one to talk to either of them. The other Greybeards apparently couldn’t communicate without Shouting anymore.

It was baffling that even with the lack of socializing in the monastery, he still managed to alienate their guests with his attitude.

“Dragonborn, today we should test your restraint again. How you manage to avoid situations without resorting to Thu’um. Bear in mind it should not be used carelessly, simply to ease your predicament.”

Bishop snorted at his plan, but didn’t say anything further. Again with this shit. He saw this lesson before – they attacked her with shouts and watched as she struggled not to fight back or escape them with her powers. It was ridiculous. They taught her more powers and then got prissy when she used them. They were supposed to be the masters of this shit, but the second someone more capable than them appeared, they tried to curb her talent. Probably making sure that she couldn’t just kill them all when she realized her real power.

The Greybeards got up from the table simultaneously, heading towards the courtyard, motioned for her silently to follow.

…

Bishop spent his day with Karnwyr lying by his side, watching as Aeyrin got attacked over and over.

The Shouts must have aggravated her battered body, sometimes even throwing her across the yard when she wasn’t fast enough to notice their approach.

It was infuriating.

She could have swept them all in one, throwing them off of that damned mountain. At least that would accomplish something.

After several hours they finally let up.

Most of them headed back inside silently while Arngeir stayed behind a while, watching the weakened Bosmer collect herself from the frozen ground. She used the new Shout she learned a few times to escape their attacks, her flight instinct kicking in subconsciously.

Arngeir shook his head at her disapprovingly: “We will continue on the morrow.”

He bowed to her and headed after his comrades.

Aeyrin stood up rather shakily, making Bishop wince at the sight.

She looked so defeated.

Her head hanging low, she headed towards the building before Bishop stopped her in her tracks.

“That’s enough, princess, don’t you think?” he scowled at her, supporting her wobbly stance instinctively.

“Bishop…” she sighed, signaling again that she refused to discuss this with him.

Why was she so adamant to take this abuse? She had power. She was allowed to use it to defend herself.

“No! I’m not gonna watch this anymore!” his voice got louder, the frustration palpable. “This isn’t helping you! They’re just scared of what you can do. They can teach you nothing! Let’s just get out of here before those fucking fossils kill you out of spite!” his eyes narrowed dangerously, it was clear he was fed up with their stay at the monastery.

“They are just trying to help me. Nobody else knows about this stuff, I need to…” Aeyrin sighed tiredly, it seemed like there was not much fight left in her at all.

Bishop interrupted her before long: “They don’t know shit! They told you all that they knew, there is nothing more for you here. Now they’re just torturing you because you can handle their precious ‘Voice’ better than them. It’s not like you were Shouting from the rooftops of populated cities for fun before, what the fuck more do they want?!”

She looked at him with weary eyes, it looked as though she was not even going to argue anymore but then she breathed in deeply. “Restraint is important, if I start to rely on the Shouts too much, it might have severe consequences. I already…” she paused for a bit, looking into the ground sullenly before continuing.

“I already hurt you with it once before, what happens the next time I panic?”

Every time they mentioned how dangerous the Shouts were, the scene replayed in her head. The sickening crack after the Shout’s rumble dissipated and even with her eyes closed, she heard him hit the wall and grunt in pain.

Then nothing.

For a few grueling seconds she thought he was dead, that she killed him.

Bishop shook his head, a bit staggered that she still thought about that incident.

“That was then. You didn’t know anything then. Now you know what it does better, you can control it just fine. I saw you train, I know you know exactly what those Shouts are going to do,” his voice got a bit lower as his angry tone turned into encouraging.

The pained looked from her eyes however refused to disappear: “You don’t get it. It’s instinct. If I don’t learn to stop myself…”

That fucking tortured look again. She was so determined before and they snuffed out her confidence like it was nothing.

There was only one think he could think to do now.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” there was a strange tone in his voice – it sounded hateful, but she heard when his voice was filled with anger and hatred many times before and it was different.

Her eyes went wide in surprise at the change, staring at him and waiting with bated breath for him to continue.

“It’s really something, how fucking concerned you are about all that now. I didn’t hear you admonish yourself when you were dragging me around Riften with murder in your eyes. It’s so fucking rich that you get all high and mighty about responsibility and staying your hand and then you throw it out the window the second you get back to your father issues,” he narrowed his eyes at her, watching for her reaction for a second, but continuing promptly when he only found her staring at him in shock.

“You’re all concerned that you hurt me when you were fighting for your life? Well, be more fucking concerned that you almost got Karnwyr killed in an unnecessary battle, because you needed to ease your own conscience from feeding your father’s habits. That wasn’t instinct, sweetheart, that was just you!” his eyes never left hers.

He knew exactly where to hit so it hurt, when to twist the knife. It didn’t matter that it was painful for her, he tried to be supportive and it failed, and he didn’t say anything that wasn’t technically true. He never would have said those words normally, but he was way past his normal. The empty and defeated look on her face made him crazy. If the nice way wasn’t going to cut it, this would.

In a moment, he noticed the glint in her eyes, the fire returning to them suddenly as instead of sighing and hanging her head she started to yell back at him: “I didn’t force you to follow me there! That was your own decision! You keep saying how you live the way you want, without anyone telling you what to do, then why am I responsible? If you thought that attacking the den was stupid then why come?! Why risk yourself and Karnwyr for my ‘father issues’?” she spat the phrase back at him.

He didn’t mind, his lips curving upward slightly. She was right, whatever he thought of her plan, he went along with it. The truth was he never blamed her for what happened, family shit always got messed up and in a strange way, he even cherished the memory of it, how she opened up to him about her childhood.

But she needed to get out of this lethargy, to get away from all the guilt-tripping and stand up for herself. If she wasn’t going to do that against the old fossils, he might as well get it started himself.

“And of course you hate it so much here,” she continued, not paying any attention to his relieved expression, “Divines forbid you spend time somewhere where you need some discipline! That you would actually show some respect to the people that only try to help! Well you don’t need to stay! It’s not like anything you’re doing is actually helping me anyways! You only make things worse, goading the Greybeards with those constant snide remarks and eye rolls. I get it. You don’t care about any of this, so why are you still here?!”

Bishop’s brows shot up in surprise. He did not expect for it to escalate that much. She was supposed to pour out her anger on _them,_ not on him. Why the fuck was she still defending the geezers? Did she not get that he was trying to help her come to terms with her powers, rather than fear them?

“Well?!” Aeyrin looked back into his eyes, the relieved look replaced by one she never saw before, but at that moment she did not care to decipher it.

“LEAVE ALREADY!!!” she yelled again and instead of waiting for his reaction, she slipped past him into the monastery, the heavy metal doors creaking loudly as she ran inside.

He stood there dumfounded for a second. Did she really tell him to leave her there? Did she really not get anything he was trying to do this entire time? A strange pain went through his chest as his thought swirled about his next move. Should he wait for her to calm down? That would defeat the whole purpose. Should he apologize? What for? He did this for _her_! Should he really… leave?

…

The day passed in a strangely quick pace.

At some point she noticed the bedroll beside her bed was gone, as she expected.

A strange vigor coursed through her battered body and she was unable to stay still, pacing though the mostly empty halls before finally deciding to get some air at the courtyard.

She needed some way to release some energy.

She considered practicing with her weapons, but there was not even a training dummy and attacking the air was not very effective.

Looking over the courtyard her eyes settled on the edge of the mountain.

A strange thought passed through her head.

She knew the reach of her new Shout, it would throw her off the mountain.

Would she be able to stop?

To control it?

Her life would have been in danger. Would her instinct allow her to die?

After so many days she felt so strangely powerful.

They taught her restraint, but she would never be able to do that. Every time her instincts kicked in, she resorted to Shouting in response. Small wonder that – she was unarmed and unarmored and they were attacking her aching body. Why did she think she could stop herself from fighting back?

But if she could control it… then she wouldn’t need to. She could fight back and protect the ones she cared about at the same time, never hurting anyone she didn’t mean to ever again.

A little voice in her head screamed at her that she was wrong, that she would die if she tried, but it got quieter and quieter, her newfound goal dead-set in her sights.

“WULD!”

She shouted sooner than she was ready, but once the uncontrollable rapid movement started, she realized herself quickly.

Everything seemed too slow down in less than a second, the blurry surroundings turning into recognizable landmarks and the edge of the mountain, clearly outlined before her.

She got a strange urge to shut her eyes tightly but she knew she couldn’t.

All the thoughts in her head focused on one thing – willing her feet to stop.

A deep breath escaped her mouth as she realized that the world stopped moving around her.

She looked below, the edge of the mountain was stone’s throw away but she was still, standing on a solid ground.

“Dragonborn,” Arngeir approached her, likely witnessing her reckless experiment.

She turned to him, her face betraying no berating and no apology, only determination.

“Did you see?” her eyes searched his, he looked strangely sad, only nodding in response.

“Can you help me control it?” she studied him carefully, but the old man showed no hint of condescension or admonishment. A strange humbleness was seen in his eyes as he shook his head in negation.

“None of us are able to.”

After a moment of silence the old sage looked up at her, a hint of a smile and perhaps even hope etched across his wrinkled face. “I would propose a last test, if you are willing,” his commands turned into a request so easily and all the tension from the past ten-day seemed to dissipate.

Aeyrin nodded, her heart still racing, but as she listened to the old man explain about a lost relic, only accessible to those who can master the Thu’um, she started to feel so much lighter, as if a great burden has been lifted.

She made her way back into the monastery to spend her last night there and give herself a moment of rest.

With a lot of her concerns over her ability to control her instincts dissipated and her new determination at learning to control her power, her thoughts came back to Bishop and the hurtful things he said.

She played their conversation over and over in her head throughout the course of the night, at times fuming at his words, at times regretful of her own ones.

She barely noticed getting any sleep at all when something started to insistently poking at her back.

She got up groggily, noticing the sun shining through the small windows.

She sat up on the bed unceremoniously, only for her eyes to meet the wolf beside her. His ears were lowered pitifully and he let out a low whine when their eyes met.

What was he doing here? Did Bishop come back?

She asked the old men and scoured the monastery and the courtyard but he was nowhere to be found, Karnwyr constantly following at her heel.

When she finally looked at the wolf in confusion he barked at her happily and ran towards the front entrance of the monastery, motioning towards the door. Did he want her to follow? Was Bishop in danger? No, Karnwyr, would have been way more insistent, and how would he even get inside the building?

He must have left him.

He would never leave him, no matter how angry or distracted he got.

No.

He left him to watch over her.


	25. Sobering

Bishop’s head was swirling incessantly.

He remembered the blissful morning at The Bannered Mare – the last time he got this shitfaced.

It was so much better when he didn’t remember a thing.

This time, the flashes of previous night returned to him constantly.

He went through a myriad of moods throughout the evening. He remembered sulking in the corner of the inn, drinking Dragon’s Breath and wistfully thinking on the night he spent there with Aeyrin right before they got to that fucking monastery. He was still a bit, upset that their game got cut short, but to be honest, he couldn’t really think of anything more to make her do.

Well, that was a lie, he could think of an endless number of things he would want to make her do.

Like getting on her knees in front of him, those beautiful black eyes looking up, her cheeks flushed with shyness and excitement at the same time… fuck, that was the exact same problem he had that night. Anything he wanted to do would break the promise he gave her.

He remembered watching the singing and dancing villagers hatefully. How dared they have fun while he was pissed off? Who was he pissed off at again? Was it Aeyrin for not understanding him? Or was it himself?

It didn’t matter. Pissed off is pissed off.

He remembered suddenly singing and dancing drunkenly with the crowd. Why? He didn’t do that. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He watched how a girl got up on a table and danced, quite skillfully, but he caught himself thinking of Aeyrin’s drunken song and dance. It was so much worse, outright ridiculous, but somehow it mesmerized him beyond comprehension.

Was it always like that when he liked a person?

He thought for a while when was the last time he actually enjoyed someone’s company. Jules, probably.

Come to think of it, he never really _enjoyed_ anyone else’s company, ever.

He remembered his cheerful face, his chipper attitude about everything. It was something he found so infuriating about other people, but never him. It was even charming when he did it.

It was the same with her now.

Everything she did, everything she represented, he should hate that – the eagerness and helpfulness, it was so stupid, it got people killed; the shyness and reservations, why would he want that, he got nothing out of it. And worst of all, that fucking religious crap. How he hated that, the twisted zealotry of anyone worshipping those useless Divines. Those damn principles and commands that turned people into mindless slaves to purpose. He knew it all too well – his own family was proof enough. Why wasn’t that a fucking red flag? Why? Why didn’t it annoy him, or warn him away? Why did he actually come to admire her stupid convictions?

He remembered getting some fresh air, walking across the bridge to the patch of wood where they held their archery competition. He could still see the glass shards glittering on the ground in the moonlight.

Why did he come there? When did he get so fucking sentimental?

She didn’t want him around anyways… no… she just didn’t understand.

Those fossils warped her head, guilted her into their own way of thinking. Of course she responded to old haughty know-it-alls throwing her disapproving looks, that’s what she was used to.

Besides, she _would_ come back.

He left Karnwyr, told him to make sure she was alright, to watch out for her. The old geezers might have been as dangerous as any dragon, once she succumbed to that damn despair, it would be too hard to come back from. Karnwyr could help her keep her spirit up, he always did that for him, there was nothing to worry about.

Besides, she would have to come back with him, she would never send him down the mountain alone, there could have been another dragon around.

She cared about the wolf too much to abandon him.

Did she care about Bishop enough not to abandon him either?

He remembered returning to the inn and seeing that fucking drunkard that bothered Aeyrin the last night they were there.

A thought occurred to him that he kind of was a drunkard that couldn’t keep his hands off her that night too. And not just that night, come to think of it. But as present company suggested, if she minded, she would eventually punch him. And he bet it would hurt too. That little thing had impressive strength; he never would have guessed when he met her.

Damn, that drunk had nothing on his face that suggested he was ever punched. That was a problem. He needed to fix that. A shiner or a broken nose would go perfectly with his ugly mug.

Well… a lot happened after that.

He found out that he himself in fact did not look better with a black eye, but that lecher certainly did. Oh well.

Maybe Aeyrin would heal it for him when she got back. Of course she would, even if she came back only to yell in his face, she would still heal him.

Then he saw _her_.

…

A sudden bark right by his room door interrupted his reminiscing.

That was Karnwyr.

He heard the innkeeper yell to get the mangy beast out of the tavern.

He wasn’t mangy!

Bishop turned to his side, looking over the gold-blond tresses splayed on the pillow beside him, the naked girl curled into a ball right next to him. He got compelled to run his fingers through the hair but stopped himself.

He didn’t want to wake her.

He remembered spotting her in the room last night. His breath caught in his throat as the hair shone in the demure firelight. It was like a signaling beacon, he cursed under his breath for being so drunk, but then she turned towards him, a smile playing on her lips.

And the deep disappointment set in.

She was pretty, and she obviously took an interest in him, hanging around all night, drinking with him and giggling merrily.

But it wasn’t her.

He remembered his mood getting increasingly morose throughout the night to the point where he didn’t care anymore. He remembered keeping her back to him all the way through, pressing her against the wall or keeping her on all fours in a strange attempt not to see face.

He also remembered fixating himself on her hair a lot, keeping his fingers entangled in it most of the time. _That’s fucking creepy, Bishop._ He remembered admonishing himself, but it didn’t help.

None of it helped.

At least this time he was sure he didn’t promise her anything. He was sure she knew this was a one-time thing. He didn’t even know her name and she didn’t know his.

No one needed to know.

 _She_ didn’t need to know.

He got up, ignoring the pain in his head.

There were no more barks at his door but he felt so tense.

Would he see her there when he opened the door? Or did she leave, sending Karnwyr back to him?

He got dressed hastily, grabbing his pack with him.

He fully intended to pretend that this room and the woman within never existed; he only hoped she would give him the same courtesy.

He snuck out finally and closed the door behind him quietly, looking over the common room.

His eyes finally rested on the Bosmer in the corner, the relief in them palpable – luckily she was too far to see his expression. He still didn’t know how this was gonna go.

Aeyrin got the urge to greet him with a smile, but the memory of his words quickly replaced it. She wasn’t even sure what she came to say.

She was hurt, but grateful at the same time.

She didn’t want to part ways, not when it became so obvious that Bishop cared about her. She still couldn’t fathom why he would trust her with Karnwyr after he blamed her for what happened at the skooma den. If nothing else, she was hoping they could finally talk. Honestly, for a change, without either of them running from difficult topics.

She watched as Bishop set beside her, his face showing no emotion. She hoped that hers mirrored his, but she wasn’t sure she was even capable of that.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence until she finally decided to start.

“Thank you… for leaving Karnwyr with me… I didn’t expect that…” she played with her fingers nervously, hoping it was enough for him to start talking, and maybe explain what he was thinking.

“Yeah, well… someone needed to look out for you, before the old fossils sank their claws back in,” he snorted derisively, obviously still bitter about what happened – or maybe it was just his usual prideful pretense. She knew that all too well.

“Why did you…” she took a deep breath before continuing, “Why did you say those things?” There was still hurt in her eyes despite of her attempts to hide it. She couldn’t shake it, even though rationally, she knew he wouldn’t blame her for her chase after the dealers. If he did, he wouldn’t have shut up about it.

But it still hurt to hear.

Because he was right – it wouldn’t have hurt otherwise. He maybe even did her a favor by saying it out loud. She recklessly endangered those she cared about because of past slights she was never able to let go of. _Know the truth_. It helped – without knowing her mistakes; she would never be able to avoid them in the future.

Bishop stared at her for a while, likely wondering how to respond, then he shook his head exasperatedly. “Ladyship, did you not see yourself while we were there? It was like watching a ghost. At least…” he sighed. “At least you stood up for yourself to me.”

Aeyrin narrowed her eyes at him, his intention finally clear to her. At one point she felt like hugging him and thanking him, but she refused to let him off that easy after hurting her.

“So what? You goaded me? Prodded for a reaction?”

Instead of explaining himself further he smirked at her, his confident attitude etched back on his face.

Did he notice that she was no longer angry? She was such a bad actress. She wanted him to look apologetic at least a little longer. His smirk pissed her off.

“You’re here soon,” he smirked at her, but she noticed a hint of genuine warm smile behind his expression. “What happened with the geezers?”

Dammit, bad question. It practically admitted that he was right to do that. It made her even angrier. How could that man make her so happy and angry at the same time?

No, he was not going to win this.

She would get an apology from him.

“Did you mean it?” she asked quietly, ignoring his question. She tried to sound as sad as possible, but it was hard. She knew he didn’t mean it. He was right, but he didn’t mean to put the blame on her, even if he perhaps should have.

She expected another smug smirk, perhaps Bishop laughing at her attempt at manipulation or him pointing out arrogantly that she already knew the answer.

Instead she startled as he suddenly took her hand in his, his face surprisingly gentle and sincere as he spoke slowly: “It wasn’t your fault. We both agreed to go there and we both knew the risks. It could have happened anywhere.”

She wondered for a while if he was saying that to set the record straight, or whether he thought she needed to hear that. In the end it didn’t matter. She already promised herself she would be more careful with her skooma obsession, but hearing those words still eased her mind.

Suddenly tired of playing games, she moved closer to him, her face flushing as if on command as she quickly pressed her lips against his, locking her hands behind his neck.

Bishop responded eagerly pulling her even closer, one hand on her lower back and the second entwined in her hair, thinking briefly on how different it felt from last night, but admonishing himself quickly.

They got lost in the dizzying kiss for quite a while. Bishop’s tongue probed her mouth eagerly, at times withdrawing only for him to lightly bite into her lower lip with his teeth.

Aeyrin’s hands wandered to his short hair, grabbing at it with insistence that surprised even her.

His lips moved slowly and teasingly across her cheek towards her ear when a sound of opening door at the other side of the room made her open her eyes instinctively.

Bishop felt her pull back with a sudden start.

He opened his eyes to see her looking across his shoulder, then back at him.

He didn’t need to turn around to know what, or rather who, she saw.

This time there was no anger in her eyes, no glint, no fire… only hurt.

Telling her that he was drunk or that it didn’t mean anything seemed like the most pathetic thing he could do, besides she probably knew. It’s not like he didn’t smell as if he bathed in mead the previous night and the black eye likely spoke for itself.

He didn’t even spare the girl leaving his room a glance as the telling opening of the tavern door signaled her departure.

He didn’t say a word.

Somehow anything seemed like either a cheap excuse or something that would hurt her even more.

Aeyrin was surprised how little anger she felt at the situation.

Would she even have a right to be angry?

Bishop never made her any promises to stay away from other women. She even sent him away the day before; he could have thought they would not see each other again.

But seeing her leaving his room suddenly… it felt too painful.

Did he think they would not return to their previous intimacy? Or was this normal for him? Would he have spent the night with that woman even if they would have been together at that time? He said he would wait for her to be ready… is this what he meant? That he would seek his pleasure elsewhere until she relented?

And _why_ did he kiss her just now, while the girl was still in his room?

No matter how she looked at it, it became increasingly obvious to her that they would never see their closeness in the same way.

Everything they did together, it must have been so trivial to him. She found herself wondering if he ascribed any meaning to their intimacy at all. She knew he liked her, but she only derived that from their friendship.

Rationally, she knew that all that flirting and his constant comments were probably something he did out of habit, rather than genuine affection, but there was still some part of her that hoped that she was somehow special to him, like he was to her.

The silence was excruciating.

She felt like crying but refused to show her hurt so openly to him. She could never treat their relationship casually. It would be easier for her if it stopped.

She forced a weak smile on her face looking him in the eyes determinedly: “Did you want to wash up or eat here? If not, I was hoping we could get back on the road.”

She was looking forward to a lunch that consisted of more than stale bread but suddenly she lost all her appetite.

Bishop nodded slowly, searching her face warily, but she willed herself to keep her smile up.

He stood up from the table heading towards the baths, suddenly needing to get away from the tension between them.

He was so preoccupied wondering how to fix this that he almost forgot where he was headed. His thoughts were alternating between a panicked realization that he probably fucked up their relationship with a drunken one night stand and outrage at the fact that this should change things. It’s not like they were committed to each other.

He could do whatever he wanted.

He could do whatever he wanted – and he chose this.

He chose this… even though he knew it would hurt her.


	26. Testing Your Mettle

Aeyrin didn’t tell Bishop what she intended to do in Whiterun.

Under the pretenses of the logical action of returning the sapling, which has weathered the grueling journeys to and from the Greybeards’ monastery, they set off on the familiar road to the west.

The events of the other night were painfully sobering to her.

She realized how much of her own happiness she staked on her relationship with Bishop and the constant turmoil and doubt were becoming too much to handle. She needed to focus on her purpose in Skyrim and on controlling her newfound powers. For that, she needed something else to hold on to, so that she knew she had a place to return to in the foreign land, even if they were to part again.

She needed to find a new home and new people around her – her future with Bishop was too uncertain.

The Companions’ offer was always tempting to her and she knew what he thought of them. She was sure he would not wish to join their ranks alongside her, if nothing else then for Karnwyr’s sake.

But they seemed to be a close-knit group – one that was happy to welcome her, even before they knew she was the Dragonborn.

Bishop kept throwing her furtive glances, silently walking beside her.

They haven’t talked about that night in Ivarstead. In fact, they didn’t talk about much at all, aside the necessary plans for the road.

Aeyrin wanted to return to the comfortable friendship they shared before the morning at Nilheim but it seemed like nothing she could say would accomplish that. Bishop, on the other hand, for perhaps the first time was unable to discern what the elf was thinking, staying quiet rather than fanning the flames and making things even more uncomfortable.

They made camp some distance from the river, by the mountainside.

Bishop escaped the suffocating silence, at least a little, to go on a hunt, taking maybe longer than necessary, rushed only by the approaching darkness. He did notice before that his hunts were becoming more and more swift, he was more concerned with catching a prey quickly, rather than waiting for a larger one, only to return to the camp to Aeyrin sooner.

But everything felt so different now.

When their meal was ready, he sat himself beside her out of habit, only to notice her scoot away immediately. Was it really that horrible? She _did_ send him away. Sure, he provoked her purposefully, but she was still the one who told him to leave. Was he supposed to wait for her obediently, not even knowing if she was ever coming back to him? Why was she acting like he betrayed her trust? They never promised each other any fidelity.

He took a deep breath.

Everything he would say, she would no doubt see as an excuse, but staying silent obviously didn’t help either.

He didn’t look at her, only stared into the fire as he willed himself to talk.

“You know… it didn’t really mean anything,” he sighed.

Aeyrin looked up from her food, a strangely surprised look on her face. “I know,” she stated that matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

What was it then? Did a meaningless fling while they were apart really bother her that much?

“Then why are you…?” his voice rose in frustration, but he didn’t finish the question. He didn’t even know how. He shook his head instead.

Aeyrin looked in his eyes, her words deliberate, now painfully aware that he didn’t understand why she was upset at all.

“Because _I_ want it to mean something.”

A realization dawned on him. Did she really think that their own relationship meant as little to him as a drunken one-night-stand?

“That’s different…” he shrugged, not really sure how to explain it. He knew he wouldn’t leave after, like he usually did. But he wasn’t really sure what to tell her either. It was quite possible that they got sick of each other after some time, but would that make it meaningless for her?

Aeyrin nodded thoughtfully before responding. “Right. Because we’re friends. That’s why it’s better this way…” she sighed with resignation, putting her bowl away and heading towards her bedroll, ending the conversation there.

‘Better’… how was this better than before?

It was uncomfortable and frustrating.

…

They made their way to Whiterun in a similarly somber and tense mood.

Bishop considered drowning his frustration at The Bannered Mare but for some reason, it didn’t feel that tempting anymore.

They earned a few coins by selling their collected loot and headed towards the temple of Kynareth.

Danica was surprisingly upset, not behaving like a priestess of Kynareth at all. Aeyrin’s speech of renewal only made her sour – she hoped their symbol would tower in the center of the city, inspiring the faithful. Instead, she got a tiny sapling that could take as long as centuries to grow to the majestic size of the current Gildergreen. Not to mention, the temple would have to petition the jarl to remove the dead tree.

Danica refused to pay for their service, but Aeyrin didn’t care. She didn’t do it for the money and she was sure that she has done the right thing.

Bishop grumbled a bit, but surprisingly wasn’t that upset at the lack of reward either. A smile crept to his face unknowingly when he remembered their trip to the Eldergleam Sanctuary, swiftly replaced by a singe of anger at the current situation.

They left the temple and stopped beside the dead tree.

Bishop ushered her towards the inn for some food and sleep but Aeyrin shook her head at him sheepishly.

“Actually… I was hoping to visit somewhere else before we go,” she inclined her head towards the longhouse near the tree, Bishop narrowing his eyes angrily.

“Seriously?! Why? If you want to kill giants and bandits you can do that without them. Besides, I told you, there’s something wrong with them,” he folded his arms across his chest, pointedly looking at Karnwyr, who gave a low questioning whine.

Aeyrin knelt down by the wolf, scratching him by his ear affectionately: “You wouldn’t attack me, would you?”

He barked back at her happily, she was really convinced that he understood everything they said.

Bishop scoffed in response, his arms still folded stubbornly.

“Do you want to come with me? To hear what they have to say?” she gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow but quickly pulled back after to keep a certain distance between them.

Bishop sighed in resignation: “Fine, but only to look around that place and see what’s wrong with them.”

…

The interior of Jorrvaskr was surprisingly rowdy.

There was a crowd of warriors in black armor gathered in a rough circle, hooting and laughing.

The Dunmer they met back at the farm was in the center along with a blond-haired Nord woman, their fists raised in preparation for a brawl as they circled each other. The cheers of the warriors around them suggested that their fight was friendlier than one would suspect. The archer woman with long auburn hair that they saw before was leaning on a wall only a short distance away, looking over the crowd with a bored expression.

There were long tables with myriad of food all over the hall, the plates were full, suggesting that the fight broke out right in the middle of their evening feast.

“You came,” a familiar voice interrupted their scrutiny of the environment.

One of the dark-haired warriors that helped them fell the dragon appeared beside them. He gave them both a warm smile in greeting.

“I hope you left your pet wolf outside,” he laughed heartily, earning an angry glare from Bishop.

“He’s not a pet,” he grumbled between his clenched teeth, doubting his own words judging from his friend’s behavior as of late. But he was still sure that Karnwyr would be more than happy to sink his teeth into the man’s throat given the chance.

The warrior shrugged in response, smile still plastered on his face.

“I’m Farkas, in case you forgot. It’s an honor to have the Dragonborn in Jorrvaskr,” his smile turned to Aeyrin only. Seemingly ignoring Bishop’s presence, Farkas gave her a friendly slap on her back but his hand didn’t retreat as he draped it over her shoulders, leading her towards a stairwell at the back of the room.

“Come, Harbinger will be glad to meet you. We told him a lot about your prowess,” his hand refused to leave her shoulders as they walked through a long hallway past some bedrooms.

Bishop’s glare threatened to burn a hole into the back of Farkas’s head, remembering how in the past few days she was unwilling to even sit or walk near him while she let that lummox paw at her at will.

It took him way too long to notice the woman with auburn hair by his side, giving him a detached appraising glance. When she noticed him looking at her, she gave a warm smile in response – a horribly fake one, that is. Maybe Bishop’s face betrayed the displeasure at being there, or maybe the camaraderie, that they tried so hard to exude, was fake all along.

The old man and Farkas’s brother Vilkas greeted them excitedly.

The old Harbinger introduced himself as Kodlak Whitemane and the huntress as Aela. They spoke for some time about honor and other stupid shit like that, Bishop was more concerned with the glances that the two brothers threw at Aeyrin from time to time.

Aela was looking at her curiously too, smiling all the while but Bishop couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling he got every time he noticed her. She had a strange glint in her eyes.

They all pointedly ignored Bishop’s presence, fawning over the Dragonborn. It didn’t surprise him, he had no interest in their little guild anyways.

The old man was the only one who actually addressed Bishop at times and nodded his head to him whenever he was talking to the both of them. Bishop decided to make it clear that he had no interest in joining, if only to spare the old man the effort of directing his doubtlessly fake kindness at him. The suspicious glances of the brothers and the huntress were certainly more refreshing.

To his surprise, the Harbinger seemed a bit disappointed when Bishop made his intentions clear.

Well whatever, as if he cared for a stranger’s moods.

He shook his head and focused back on the two brothers, exerting themselves with warm smiles and friendly pats on Aeyrin’s back.

They were so transparent.

…

They headed towards the courtyard as Vilkas was telling her all about the history of the Companions.

Everyone was so friendly. It was so different from the all too common derisive glances of citizens or the racial slurs.

It was also a lot different from her first experiences with Bishop and his grumpiness.

The warriors made her feel welcome immediately.

She _did_ think on Bishop’s words for a split of a second: _They all make nice when they need something, then everyone just cares about themselves._ She chased the thought away immediately. She refused to let his skewed view of the nature of men influence her. She met countless nice people who never asked her for anything in Cyrodiil, and over the course of their travels in Skyrim too – like Balimund or Lynly.

“Are you a Stendarrite?” Aela curiously interrupted Vilkas’s speech, peering at the amulet around Aeyrin’s neck.

“You could say that. I was raised as cleric at the chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol,” Aeyrin smiled in response, brushing her fingers against the amulet fondly.

Aela’s eyes seemed to go wide, a strange smile appeared on her face: “That’s... great. We never had a priest among us. Let alone a Stendarrite,” she grinned, “I’m glad you will be becoming one of us.”

Aeyrin pondered why her religious opinions would be of any importance to the Companions. Besides most people venerated the Eight in one way or the other, it was hardly anything unusual. The grin on Aela’s face made her strangely uncomfortable, but she decided to ignore it.

It was likely Bishop’s paranoia rubbing off on her.

Vilkas ushered her to don her armor before their sparring match, grabbing a whetstone to sharpen his claymore.

Aela and Farkas sat at one of the tables at the courtyard, soon joined by other Companions from inside the Jorrvaskr.

Bishop leaned against the building’s wall impassively. The man’s already seen her fight against a fucking dragon, this was a pointless show. Likely he was hoping to defeat her in one on one combat – perhaps to assert his dominance in their guild, or maybe to impress her. Whatever, it’s not like he would manage either.

“Normally, pup, I would hold back a little for a new recruit. But… since you’re the almighty Dragonborn, I think we can make it a real fight,” he grinned at her, making her shuffle her feet a bit uncomfortably.

She didn’t like how much they fixated on her being the Dragonborn. She just wanted to be one of them, not their token hero of legend.

She readied her mace, Vilkas obviously waiting for her to make the first move.

His claymore was made out of strangely dark steel, looking sturdier than a regular steel greatsword. His armor was also of a much higher quality then hers, that much was certain from the first glance. She _did_ have one advantage though – she was fast in her gear – the plates only covered integral spots, leaving her sides and joints clad only in chainmail, allowing her free movement despite the weight of her armor. Unlike Vilkas, she did not feel like she was walking around in a metal cage.

Aeyrin charged the Nord with her shield raised.

She knew it was a predictable move, easily countered, but he didn’t know how dexterous she was. The only time he saw her fight was against the dragon and by the time the brothers arrived, Bishop and Aeyrin already had things somewhat under control.

Vilkas smashed his claymore into her shield expectedly, the force of his blow stopping her charge in an instant.

She quickly ducked under his blade, twirling around and smashing her mace into his armored back before he could react, forcing him to double over from the impact.

The man recovered quickly, smirking at her and readjusting his grip on his greatsword. He heaved, aiming it at Aeyrin’s un-plated flank.

She managed to dodge his blow only barely, the force behind it immediately obvious. She needed to keep moving – if he were to actually hit her, he would without a doubt stagger her, if not knocking her out outright.

She dodged a couple more swings but didn’t manage to get close enough to him again.

The fight dragged on and she was starting to get tired – likely exactly what Vilkas intended.

In a brief moment of inattentiveness, his blade smashed into her mace, knocking it out of her hand, sending it flying across the yard.

Vilkas gave her another smirk, leaning his sword’s tip on the ground, twirling it around with one hand with a smug expression on his face, sure of his victory. He was certain that she stood no chance against him without a weapon.

She quickly realized herself and lunged at the Nord, shoulder-first, aiming at his stomach. The layer of plate didn’t matter, it was a painful gambit, but no one ever expected it.

As expected, the sword tumbled from his grip as he staggered backwards, but his reaction was too quick.

Normally, she recovered fast enough to elude her attacker and either deliver a finishing blow, or get away.

This time, however, she couldn’t.

Vilkas’s arms gripped her shoulders immediately, steadying himself against her small frame.

Her knees threatened to buckle as she felt the full force of their collective weight, but soon enough the Nord recovered his footing.

A second later he slammed his body into her, pinning her below him to the ground. His hands moved to her wrists immediately, one of his knees pressed against her thigh, subduing her movements.

His face was right in front of her, their heavy breaths mixing together.

Vilkas gave another satisfied smirk.

She expected him to grab her throat or to flip her over and restrain her arms to signal his victory, but he didn’t.

It seemed like he was waiting for something.

“Any last defense?” he chuckled into her face, his eyes fastened on hers.

That’s when she realized what he was waiting for. Did he want her to Shout? She aimed her gaze upwards, looking at the full courtyard of Companions, expectantly watching the scene unfold. They were all there for this – to see the Dragonborn Shout.

Didn’t they care what would happen to Vilkas? Didn’t _he_ care?

No of course not… the novelty was too tempting.

And once she did that, they would expect it from her all the time. She couldn’t control her Shouts properly yet and she refused to use them recklessly until she did. Definitely not against friendly targets.

At first it saddened her a bit that they would only see her as the Dragonborn, but then the anger set in. Was she just an attraction? She was like a subdued animal, prodded for a reaction.

She refused to be played like that. She refused to give them what they wanted.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered to Vilkas, hoping her performance was sufficiently convincing. She looked deep into his dark eyes, and took a deep breath without exhaling. He did exactly what she wanted.

His smirk wavered and his grip on her loosened slightly. He was bracing himself for the Shouting – something he had no idea what could do to him.

Aeyrin took advantage of his hesitance immediately, lodging her free leg around his waist and putting all her force into flipping him on his back.

Vilkas didn’t anticipate any of that and the maneuver was far easier than she thought.

She gave him a smirk in return as she straddled him. His eyes went wide at her ruse. She knew, however, that the second he realized himself, she would again be no match for his strength.

She quickly got up from her position and grabbed his claymore from the ground nearby, aiming it at his throat before he managed to get himself up.

The silence stretched into a long moment.

Nobody said anything for a while, Vilkas still with unbridled shock on his face, while all the other companions gathered around the yard watched in anticipation.

It was like the time has stopped.

Then a loud yell interrupted the uncertain silence: “Ha! Vilkas got beat by a little elf!”

Everyone’s attention turned to the Dunmer in surprise as he laughed mockingly.

“She’s the Dragonborn!” Vilkas growled, still on the ground, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“She didn’t do anything Dragonborn-y, you netch-fart. And you got beat by her even without weapons! With that armor on!” the Dunmer now roared in laughter, a few of the other Companions joining him uncertainly until the whole courtyard was laughing along.

Aeyrin looked down at Vilkas who shook his head with a slight smile, apparently capable of taking his defeat in stride. She dropped the sword aside and outstretched her arm towards him.

He grasped her hand and helped himself up, draping his arm across her shoulders and squeezing amicably. “That was a clever ruse, pup,” hi winked at her, a hint of disappointment on his face.

Did he really want to get Shouted at? What was wrong with people?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” instead of a teasing smile, she gave him a level look, hoping the message would get across. She was not going to be their ‘pet Dragonborn’, Shouting for their entertainment.

Vilkas nodded slowly, searching her face, then gave her an understanding smile: “Fair enough, pup.”


	27. Camaraderie and Adventure

The Companions invited both of them to celebrate Aeyrin’s joining and to spend the night in Jorrvaskr.

They offered her permanent quarters with the other recruits, saying that the longhouse would from now on be her home whenever she needed.

Some of them still barreled her with questions about being a Dragonborn, but to his credit, Vilkas made the effort to change the subject whenever he noticed her unease, spending the majority of the evening by her side for that reason. Every time he managed to steer the conversation away, Aeyrin shot him a grateful smile in return.

It was slowly starting to look like the place she needed – a home she could return to.

A touchstone which was not dependent on surly moods and drunken escapades.

Bishop was less then pleased with the direction the evening took.

He knew there was something shifty about these people – he could tell shifty. Not only that, it was increasingly obvious that she was there only because she was the Dragonborn – her title on everyone’s lips wherever he turned. Did they even know her name?

She barely spared him a glance all evening.

Vilkas was around her constantly and his brother was no better, both of them inconspicuously leaning towards her or touching her under the pretense of camaraderie. She was too naïve to see through that but he knew better. He recognized the look in their eyes. He wasn’t really worried about her doing anything with them, she would hardly approach sex or anything related that casually, especially after what happened between them.

But it still made his blood boil to watch their pathetic attempts.

It was a bitter feeling, to see the easy closeness they shared together before to be given so freely to others when he was deprived of it. He hated how careful she got around him. He thought she wanted things to return to what they were before he kissed her, but this was a far cry from that.

“Not one for celebrations?” the Dunmer smirked as he took a seat beside Bishop.

He was in no mood to talk to any of them, his eyes still set on Aeyrin and the two brothers hovering around her eagerly. The Dunmer followed his line of sight for a while and observed the three for a few moments alongside Bishop.

“The jealous type then?” he laughed somewhat mockingly, earning a glare from Bishop.

“No wonder she takes to them, having only you for company so far,” he continued goading him.

Bishop was in no mood to entertain him, it was obvious that the elf enjoyed taunting people, he wasn’t about to take the bait.

“See all those people around her?” the Dunmer seemed to take on a serious tone suddenly, motioning towards the part of the long table where Aeyrin sat, surrounded by the two brothers, Aela and another Nord – a slightly older one with a bald head and war paint under his eyes. When Bishop’s eyes roamed around the room, he noticed the remaining companions – the two young girls throwing the group rather nasty glances and a few other warriors completely disinterested in them.

He narrowed his eyes at the Dunmer, trying to discern his intentions.

“Those four are ‘the Circle’ – our best and most senior members. When Farkas and Vilkas returned from the Rift, they almost burst with excitement at meeting the Dragonborn. And now…” he scoffed derisively with Bishop still baffled by his monologue. “Aela’s been whispering everywhere that your girl’s a priestess. Those four were even more thrilled about _that_ than the Dragonborn thing,” the elf turned to Bishop, narrowing his eyes, signaling his suspicion.

Bishop shook his head. It was kind of weird that they would get interested in her religion, but a battle priest was likely a welcome sight. She would no doubt be invaluable for their excursions.

“What’s your fucking point?” he barked at the elf, tired of his vague insinuations.

“My ‘fucking point’, n’wah, is that they barely spare a glance to any new recruit we have. The fucking Emperor could stride in and they would still call him ‘milk-drinker’. But your girl… they are like a pack of wolves, descending on their prey. For some reason, they desperately want her here. They’re never all smiles and kindness, believe me,” he gave him a meaningful stare.

Still, it was hardly surprising that they wanted the Dragonborn around, but the fact that even one of their own was suspicious of them made Bishop uneasy.

“Why are you here then? You don’t seem all that ‘friendly’ with them yourself,” Bishop asked him, still baffled by the fact that he was the recipient of this strange confession.

“Are you kidding? A greyskin, good with a sword? What else would I do? Mercenary work to get spat on by fucking snowbacks?” he scoffed derisively. “Your girl’s in the same boat, even if she’s got tits to make the Nords nicer to her. They know damn well how easy it would be to make her feel welcome here. And when they pounce, she won’t see it coming.”

Bishop narrowed his eyes at the group on the other side of the room. Each of the brothers was seated on one side of her, Vilkas telling her something with a proud smile on his face, while Farkas watched her reaction intently. It’s not like he never saw men pay such rapt attention to her, but with everything the elf said, uneasiness gnawed at him more and more.

“Do you actually have anything useful to say, or just vague conspiracy theories?” Bishop barked at him, irritated at how much this was getting to him, “Why would you even tell me this?”

The elf shrugged, now seemingly completely disinterested: “I don’t know shit, n’wah. I just watch and get called knife-ear by the almighty Circle. Maybe I just don’t want a fucking Dragonborn to join them and spit on me too.”

The elf didn’t say anything further, downing his drink and leaving the room altogether.

Bishop looked back at her again, laughing among her newfound peers.

What would he even tell her? She would never believe him, not in the state that their relationship was in.

…

The next day, Aeyrin was excitedly preparing for her first outing as a Shield-sister.

She was to accompany Farkas into a nearby Nordic ruin, looking for a fragment of an ancient battleaxe belonging to Ysgramor himself.

“I thought you wanted to help people. What is getting some sentimental chunk of metal gonna help anyone?” Bishop scoffed, lazing on a bed in one of the bedrooms while Aeyrin fastened her new black plates to her underchain. The blacksmith apparently worked on them for her all morning. She was slightly disappointed that no one mentioned that – she would have loved to see what kind of strange metal the black armor was made from, and perhaps even to help the smith with making her plate. Although, this way, at least, there were no mistakes in the measurements.

“It helps the Companions,” she shook her head at Bishop. Of course he was grumpy about her plans – he was grumpy about anything. But she was exited to travel with someone new, to see whether they made a good team in battle. And she missed the closeness that watching each other’s backs garnered.

Maybe she missed the closeness she shared with Bishop, but it didn’t matter anymore. She needed to keep her distance. They weren’t right for each other and she was too wary of the effect he had on her.

“Yeah, they’re really suffering without their little axe,” he smirked but the scowl never left his face. He couldn’t shake the suspicions planted by both Karnwyr’s behavior and the elf’s words. He knew she could take care of herself, but he still didn’t like the idea of her going alone with Farkas anywhere.

Gods forbid she would actually come to like that slobbering dog. The Deadlands would freeze over before he would let _anyone_ snatch her away.

Aeyrin ignored his comments, looking over her new shield and mace, fastening them to the clasps on her belt.

“I’m coming with you,” Bishop suddenly got up from bed, earning a scowl from her.

“You can’t. It’s part of my initiation,” she shook her head. Maybe they would allow it, but she wasn’t about to ask.

“Not on your little adventure, princess,” he frowned at her, although he was kind of hoping for her to agree regardless. “I wanna see if Karnwyr tries to kill you,” he gave her a mean grin, heading outside to look for his wolf.

…

Bishop was kneeling by the wolf when she caught up with him. Karnwyr immediately raised his head when he smelled her nearby, his eyes darting all around before he spotted her.

He darted away from Bishop with speed, leaving him staggered by the dead tree.

The wolf stopped a hair’s breadth before Aeyrin, making her nervous about his reaction.

In a second he barked happily, nuzzling her leg affectionately as she let out an exaggerated sigh.

“See? He’s smarter than you give him credit for,” Aeyrin chuckled as she scratched Karnwyr behind his ears.

Bishop narrowed his eyes at them. He had a theory about something about the armor making his friend skittish – maybe wolf hair used in the fur? Either Karnwyr controlled himself for Aeyrin’s benefit, or something else about the Companions made him go crazy.

…

The dungeon was crawling with draugr.

They made short work of them but the traps started to become a problem.

She only scoured two Nordic ruins before, both with Bishop, of course. He always took care of the traps so she didn’t exactly pay rapt attention to the mechanisms.

Another mistake on her part.

She needed to be able to take care of herself fully, not relying entirely on Bishop with some tasks. This was proof enough – there would be times when they weren’t together. Divines know they almost parted ways for good several times before.

Farkas was handling himself well, but they were both more comfortable with melee weapons.

Aeyrin got stuck watching his back, hanging behind and only attacking so the things he didn’t see coming.

She was uncomfortable in that role.

She was way too used to getting in the thick of it and she was hardly skilled at scanning the surrounding and finding things in the shadows. She was more accustomed to improvising when some beastie jumped out at her, back when she was adventuring alone.

They made their way into a large cavern with no discernable exit.

There was a passageway but a thick metal grate was barring the path.

“Let’s look around for some levers,” Aeyrin suggested when Farkas pointlessly tried to shake the thick bars loose.

After a while she located a strangely conspicuous lever in a small alcove. Seeing no alternative, she pulled it, only to hear a loud clank behind her.

She found herself trapped behind another thick grate. Pulling the lever again did nothing and she looked up helplessly at the approaching warrior.

“Now look what you've gotten yourself into. No worries, just sit tight. I'll find a release,” Farkas gave her a light chuckle, but before he could turn away from her, she noticed two people approaching behind his back.

“Farkas, behind you!” she cried out, but the people didn’t attack, despite their menacing stance.

“Well… what do we have here?” the man that appeared behind Farkas approached the bars to the alcove while the woman pressed her shortsword to the Companion’s throat.

“You got a new bitch?” the man laughed as he slammed his axe against the bars, unsuccessfully attempting to make Aeyrin flinch.

“Is she turned yet?” the woman barked at him, a deep scowl etched on her face as she refused to take her eyes off Farkas.

“I don’t know… but we’ll have so much fun with her either way,” the man gave Aeyrin a disturbing grin. He poked his axe inside the bars in provocation, attempting to nudge her with the pointed tip at the end of the handle.

How stupid was he?

Aeyrin grabbed at the weapon instinctively, just below the axe head. She pulled it from the surprised man’s hands, poking her breastplate lightly due to the momentum.

Before he could react, she fastened her grip on the weapon and smashed it through the bars – right into the man’s head.

“What the fuck?!” the woman exclaimed in shock as the man slumped to the ground, axe planted firmly in his skull.

Aeyrin wasn’t sure if she was more surprised about her friend’s death or his idiocy.

Farkas used her surprise immediately, grasping her throat with his strong armored hand, forcing her to drop her sword and attempt to dislodge the Companion’s grip from her neck.

Farkas didn’t hesitate to pull out one of his handaxes and driving it into the woman’s torso with force, effectively splitting her in half.

The grin on his face was a little disturbing as he wiped the woman’s blood from his face: “Good work, pup. I’ll go and find a way to set you free.”

Aeyrin stayed quietly in the alcove, looking down at the two corpses on the ground. They seemed to know Farkas. And what did they mean by ‘turned’?

…

It took some time before the bars finally rose back to the ceiling, but Farkas was now nowhere to be seen.

She tentatively left the alcove and continued down the now opened path, looking for the Companion.

She saw more corpses on the way, but it didn’t look like Farkas killed them. There was a group of five people, all their bodies mangled and mutilated – as if a wild animal tore into them.

She hoped the same fate did not meet the Companion.

She finally spotted him in large chamber filled with a few dead spiders and myriad of cobwebs.

His back was turned to her and he seemed like he was re-fastening his armor.

“Farkas, are you alright?” she asked a little worriedly, the scene in the previous hall made her wonder what else would they run into there.

“There you are, pup,” Farkas turned around with a smile, the blood still covering his face.

“There were a lot of corpses in the hall. It looked like something nasty attacked them,” Aeyrin winced, looking over the large chamber warily.

“It was probably the spiders. I already took care of them,” he grinned at her again, apparently unfazed by the scene.

It certainly didn’t look like a spider attack. Besides, wouldn’t the spiders entangle their victims?

“I don’t know… it didn’t look like it was the spiders. Something worse is here. We should be careful,” she shook her head at him.

“We should always be careful, pup,” he grinned again, he looked so strangely cheerful, and there was a… vigor in his eyes.

“Farkas, who are those people?” she finally asked the question that has been gnawing at her.

“They call themselves the Silver Hand. Bandits mostly. They hate the Companions. They likely heard about the Wuuthrad fragment here and decided to ambush us,” he stated that matter-of-factly.

“Why do they hate the Companions?” Aeyrin raised her eyebrows. Who would even give so much energy to hating such a group.

“Don’t know. Some say they are rejected recruits,” Farkas grinned again.

She thought for a while. She didn’t think that the Companions rejected anyone. She was all but welcome with open arms. And how could they possibly reject so many people to constitute an entire other faction?

“Don’t think about it too much, pup. You need your blood rushing to your arms and legs during battle, not your head,” he patted her back amicably and ushered her to continue away from the spider-infested chamber.

…

They didn’t encounter anyone or anything in the next few chambers.

There were some draugr corpses on the ground but it looked like those were taken care of by the Silver Hand.

They finally reached the final chamber – the fragment of Wuuthrad mercifully visible on one of the stone tables beside some strange equipment.

It looked like… torture tools.

Farkas stashed the fragment into his pack victoriously, but then Aeyrin heard the familiar drumming.

She heard herself telling Farkas to watch her back as if from far away.

She didn’t even need to search for the location of the Wall – it seemed to draw her in. Her legs carried her on her own as the only thing in her sights were the glowing runes. She stopped a hair’s breadth from the Wall, staring at the symbols. There seemed to be heat emanating from them.

_YOL_

She whispered the word under her breath, already imagining what it could mean and how much havoc it would wreak. She really needed to work on her control of the Shouts.

“Can you hear? You’re being weird,” the voice sobered her delirium.

The world around returned to her as she turned back towards Farkas.

He looked at her with a raised brow. He didn’t look concerned at all, mostly confused. There was a strange aloofness about him during their journey. He didn’t look like he was fazed by anything that has happened.

“I’m fine. Let’s get out of here,” she smiled at him, the word still unpleasantly echoing in her head.

She didn’t feel like explaining. He didn’t seem that interested anyways.

For some reason she couldn’t wait to tell everything to Bishop.


	28. The Dangers of Adventuring

Much to Bishop’s dismay they have spent the next couple of weeks in Jorrvaskr.

Aeyrin went on quests with the Companions often and Bishop noted that it was mostly the four that the Dunmer Athis called ‘the Circle’. He would have been concerned about that, if it weren’t for the fact that after each of these little adventures, Aeyrin couldn’t wait to excitedly relay every detail to him.

Apparently her newfound friends did not share her fascination with the beauties of Skyrim’s dungeons. They seemed much more interested in battle than ancient secrets and treasures.

He spent the hours that she did her work for Companions on hunts with Karnwyr, just like the old days.

Not that he minded that, but he was itching more and more to go back to adventuring with her. And to get away from the Jorrvaskr altogether.

Aeyrin still kept her distance from him, which was infuriating, especially since the brothers got increasingly more ‘friendly’ towards her. All the more since they noticed how she at times flinched away from him.

At the very least their friendship lost on some of its coldness, as she couldn’t stop herself from telling him about her new experiences.

The Companions still largely ignored him, aside from a few exceptions.

There was Athis, who for some reason _loved_ complaining to Bishop about the others. He didn’t give a fuck about the elf’s troubles, but it was pretty entertaining how often he badmouthed the members of the Circle. He also constantly shot Bishop meaningful looks when the brothers seemed particularly clingy towards Aeyrin. That was annoying – as if he needed a reminder.

The old man Kodlak tried to strike up a conversation with Bishop a few times, trying to butter him up by saying he had honor despite his attitude or some similar shit.

As if he cared what the old fossil thought about him.

Barking at the man would however in no way help his relationship with Aeyrin – she was quite fond of him, so he only nodded when necessary and largely ignored the man.

The only other Companion who ever talked to him was Aela.

She approached him one day, praising his hunting skills. When he inquired how she knew, she admitted to following him on his hunt – she was curious what he does when Aeyrin was away. It pissed him off somewhat but truth be told, he was mildly impressed that she managed to avoid his notice.

She started pressing him about joining the Companions too but he was adamant. He had no interest in their group; it was annoying enough that Aeyrin joined.

Aela still tried to lure him in at times, even tried flirting with him to achieve that – completely ineffectively, but he was a bit disappointed that Aeyrin didn’t witness that. He was all too curious about how she would react.

He refused to believe that she just lost interest in him completely after that morning in Ivarstead.

But, at the very least, Aela stopped throwing him disdainful glares.

She even insisted on joining him on a hunt one day. She wasn’t half bad.

…

“You know, I still can’t imagine who would use an ancient ruin as a shortcut,” Aeyrin chuckled as she checked her equipment bag one more time.

She was supposed to clear a ruin called Brittleshin Pass with Vilkas – apparently travelers used it to traverse the mountains and lately bandits decided to take up residence.

It was an old ruin and she hoped to discover another Word Wall in there.

She tried her new Shout alone on the plains around Whiterun – it produced a large spray of flames right in front of her and her throat burned strangely for the rest of the day. It seemed even more dangerous than her first Shout, but she was determined to learn to control them both.

That was easier said than done.

She spent most of her times with her new comrades and she didn’t want to use her powers in front of any of them since her sparring match with Vilkas. It made her uncomfortable, she was not there as the Dragonborn.

“It’s perfect for bandits. New ones are gonna be crawling through that place soon after you clear it out. Pointless,” Bishop scoffed, placing the arrows he’s fletched last night into his quiver.

“Do you want to come with?” she smiled at him bashfully after a moment of silence.

“What? Isn’t that like top secret Companion business?” he smirked mockingly. He knew he wasn’t welcome on their excursions.

“Secret? No one said it’s secret. If so, I already told you about everything anyways,” she chuckled. “They said it was part of training – to get use to fighting alongside each other,” she added with a sigh.

He watched her expectedly, waiting for her to continue.

“It’s been long enough… and they never let me take point anyways. I’m not good at watching their backs,” she gave him a hopeful look.

“So you want _me_ to take over your shoddy job?” he smirked at her mockingly.

“It’s not shoddy when you’re actually good at it! And there’s always so many nasty traps and you’re good at noticing them. And Vilkas always runs ahead just killing everything he can find… he doesn’t even look at the treasure!” she exclaimed the last thing like it was such an indignation.

He laughed at her pouting. Vilkas _would_ be pissed off if he went with them. Another reason to join. Besides, he kind of missed plundering dungeons with her. 

“Fine, I suppose I can spend the day watching your ass,” he smirked again, looking over his equipment to make sure he had everything necessary for dungeon delving.

Aeyrin turned back to her pack quickly hiding the slight blush and wondering how Vilkas would react.

…

“This is Companion business only, pup. Leave your mongrel here,” Vilkas practically growled at Aeyrin’s suggestion.

Bishop thought about responding, but Vilkas’s expression was already priceless. He only smirked at him smugly, deepening the Companion’s scowl even further.

“Come on, every helping hand is good. Besides, I’m getting rusty on the sidelines,” Aeyrin gave him an encouraging nudge. She knew he could not possibly have a logical reason for not taking Bishop with them – it was free help, how was he gonna say no to that? Well, Bishop might be a bit upset later about the ‘free’ part, but it’s not like anyone usually paid them for their own dungeon plundering – the treasure was always sufficient.

Vilkas narrowed his eyes at the both of them, but luckily didn’t protest further.

Bishop started to actually look forward to spending time with that man, if he was about to keep that pissed off expression for the entire time.

It was so rewarding.

…

The necromancer hiding in the pass was a powerful mage, but with their substantial strength in numbers they made short work of him in no time.

The rest of the pass was crawling with bandits waiting for an easy target.

“Why are you on the ground?” Aeyrin approached Bishop, splayed on his back in a passage, fiddling with a tripwire right above him.

“See that hole in the wall right next to you?” Bishop chuckled at her as she jumped back in alarm.

“You can join me on the ground, just to be safe,” he winked at her suggestively while pulling out his hunting knife.

“You know, you can just trip the wire when you see the release spot. There’s no need for all that posturing,” Vilkas scoffed with disdain, approaching them, careful not to get in the trajectory of the trap.

“I’m sure you’re right…” Bishop smirked while cutting the tripwire suddenly. A steel spear thrust out of the wall as they expected, but one more sprang from the wall behind the passage, stopping only a hair’s breadth from Vilkas, earning a malicious laugh from Bishop.

“It’s sad when a group of bandits outsmarts the mighty Companion,” he smirked smugly again while getting up on his feet deftly.

Vilkas narrowed his eyes at him hatefully before answering: “Not all of us are intimately familiar with the workings of a bandit’s mind. It’s not surprising that you are.”

Bishop scoffed. Vilkas knew nothing; it was a cheap guess, nothing more.

“Or maybe I’m not stupid enough to underestimate everyone who isn’t a lumbering tin-man.”

Bishop noticed how Vilkas fought. No wonder he never let Aeyrin take point – every time he concentrated only on the largest, most armed and armored enemy, ignoring everyone in the shadows with arrows and daggers just waiting for an ice-brain like him to hurl himself into their sights.

If it weren’t for him and Aeyrin, he would have been dead ten times over.

He wondered how that man survived his adventures before.

He underestimated Aeyrin in their sparring match too, counting on his superior strength and stature and then getting beaten by a simple ruse. Bishop would have really enjoyed how she handed his ass to him if he could have gotten the image of him pinning her down below him out of his mind.

Vilkas scoffed at his comment again, but held on to his original insinuation stubbornly. “Men like him don’t make for good comrades, pup. He has no honor… and he’s shady,” he nodded at Aeyrin meaningfully.

“He’s shady alright, but on the other hand, I never got impaled by a trap,” Aeyrin only grinned in response, giving Bishop a small smile afterwards. She already gathered that Bishop had a checkered past, but for that matter, so did she, in a way.

Vilkas only shook his head, heading into the passage before he could be a recipient of another one of Bishop’s annoying smug looks.

…

The adventure was vastly different.

She didn’t need to chase after Vilkas constantly, with barely enough time to look around the rooms.

She could fight in the thick of it while comfortably relying on Bishop having her back if anyone lurked in the shadows.

And best of all, he didn’t mind explaining her things about the ancient Skyrim barrows – he knew nothing about history but he did know some folk tales and he could tell her all about how some mechanisms and traps work.

The Companions mostly just ushered her forward, hoping to finish the tasks as quickly as possible. She understood why – everything was probably old news for them, but she still barely saw a fraction of Skyrim and she couldn’t help her curiosity.

Vilkas seemed extremely grumpy. Not only did he scoff at anything Bishop did or said, he also kept tapping his foot impatiently when they were looking over the chambers for loot or anything else of interest.

It was somewhat getting on Aeyrin’s nerves.

They continued on through the pass, nearing the exit.

They encountered another group of bandits in a narrow hallway – the close quarters promising a precarious battle.

Aeyrin charged at them first with Vilkas right behind her.

Bishop drew his bow short way away – there was really not much room to maneuver and shooting at close range was never ideal, but he’d make do. He shot one of the bandits attacking Vilkas right through his ear and quickly prepared another arrow to thin the herd.

Before he managed to draw his bow fully however, Vilkas suddenly positioned himself in front of a heavily armored bandit and charged at him with full strength.

The man staggered far enough to crash right into Bishop, his bow tumbling on the ground from impact.

Before he could reach his knife, the bandit already twisted around, thrusting his sword forward hurriedly.

A sharp pain forced his eyes shut as it spread throughout his body.

He felt the sword go all the way through, his arm flapping heavily on the ground and the cold feeling of blood soaking through his armor could be felt all over his chest.

He heard a crack of crushed bones as if from far away before he finally managed to compose himself at least a little.

Aeyrin was kneeling in front of him, gripping at the sword lodged mercifully above his heart frantically while Vilkas stood motionless behind her, his eyes betraying no emotion.

He did that on purpose.

He didn’t even have the guts to try to kill Bishop himself. Trying to stage an accident... pathetic.

Bishop shot him a murderous glare, making sure that the coward saw that he knew. Maybe he managed to escape Aeyrin’s notice, but never his.

Another stab of pain coursed through his body as she pulled the sword out, making him let out an involuntary grunt of pain.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Vilkas approach slowly and lay a comforting hand on Aeyrin’s shoulder. The gall. He might as well have tried to twist that sword before she got it out to get his point across.

“I will go ahead to clear the pass, so that nothing surprises us. You… see if there’s anything you can do,” his voice was somber as he squeezed her shoulder gently before turning away.

What the fuck? Did he actually think he managed to get him killed? Or did he just want to piss him off?

Aeyrin’s underchain was already stained with blood as she was reaching the clasps of his leathers; her hands seemed to be shaking a bit.

Did it really look that bad?

“Careful, sweetness. You might actually have to touch me for this,” he gave her a weak smirk, making her pause in her movement for a split second.

“Bishop…” she frowned disapprovingly as she managed to open up his leathers enough to reveal the blood-soaked tunic. At least from his tone of voice it didn’t seem like the wound was life-threatening.

“Do you really want to talk about that now?” she shook her head, not expecting the conversation to go any further.

“Why the fuck not? I’m pretty fed up with watching that horker-fucker paw at you all the time.”

She shot him a surprised look as she ripped his tunic to reveal the wound, making him flinch slightly from the movement. Her eyes darted quickly to his wound, finding it only slightly above any life-dependent organs, breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Who? Vilkas?” she shook her head disbelievingly while she set out to clean the wounded area with fresh water and a clean rag from her pack.

“He’s not ‘pawing’ at me,” she let out a small chuckle despite herself. It was very clear that Bishop disliked Vilkas and the rest of the Companions, but it never occurred to her that he might have actually been jealous. It actually made her a little happy.

Dammit, she needed to stop thinking like that.

“Seriously, how are you so naïve? He’s so obvious,” Bishop rolled his eyes, interrupted by his own pained hiss as the rag scraped over the open wound.

“He’s just being friendly,” she shook her head again, her eyes still concentrating on his wound.

“Yeah, he’s friendly alright. So tell me, how is it that you claim we’re ‘friends’ yet you flinch like a startled Nixad every time we get even near each other, but you have no problem having _him_ get all… ‘friendly’,” he let out another pained grunt as she pressed both her hands against the wound above his chest, a pleasant warmth spreading through him a second later while they started to glow with healing magic.

Her eyes still refused to look at him but now she seemed rather flushed.

“That’s… different,” she answered quietly.

Was she actually trying to pay him back for saying that sleeping with that girl in Ivarstead was ‘different’ from being with her? It was more spiteful than he would have expected from her.

“Right… Look, I know you’re still mad…” he sighed. He was tired of keeping his mouth shut, it didn’t help anything anyways.

“Mad?” she interrupted him, finally looking up at him, “I’m not mad…”

“Then how the fuck is it ‘different’?” he scowled.

She looked back down, shaking her head with a sigh: “Are you really gonna force me to say it?”

What? She hated him? She found him repulsive after what he did? It seemed like an overreaction, but at least he would know and this stupid uncomfortable tension could finally end.

She dropped her hands from his wound, now soothingly warm above his chest. The other end of the wound was still incredibly painful but before moving on behind him, she twiddled her fingers nervously in front of him, her eyes still lowered stubbornly.

“It’s different, because when you do it, it makes me… nervous… and it makes want to… do things,” she flushed profusely, quickly making her way behind him to hide, pressing her palms to his shoulder blade swiftly.

 _That_ was the reason? How did that not occur to him? Fuck, she was a bad influence on him, making him all insecure. He should have known, all of that could have been avoided. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe she needed some time, maybe even to see that he wouldn’t push her when she pulled away.

But there was no way in Oblivion he was going to stay away from her now.

She dropped her hands from his wound, it was still painful but decidedly less so. He would need to visit the temple, but it was good enough to make it back to Whiterun with no major hassle.

He turned to face her, her face still red and eyes downcast.

“That’s a stupid reason, princess,” he smirked, brushing a stray hair from her forehead and quickly planting a kiss on the top of her head pointedly.

“Bishop!” she took up an admonishing tone, looking up at him, but her mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and laughed: “Just being ‘friendly’.”

She shook her head and readied herself to get up but he stopped her. He was already a bit woozy from the blood loss and if he didn’t say it, it would hardly rid her of her doubts.

“I meant what I said… that it wasn’t the same… I just… wasn’t thinking that night. But with you… it _would_ mean something. Fuck I actually like you, ladyship,” he slowly placed his hand on her cheek, stroking lightly.

She gave out an exasperated sigh but still leaned into his touch slightly, her lips quirking upwards.

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t push him away either.

It was enough for now.


	29. A Friend

Aeyrin spent another day on an adventure with Farkas while Bishop recovered in the temple.

His wound was surprisingly not as bad as it initially looked, but she insisted that he has it fully treated nonetheless.

While clearing out a cave from wild animals, she was again reminded how uncomfortable she was with the Companions’ pace.

Perhaps it was time for them to move on.

She had found a home and friendship among them – that was more than she could have hoped for, but she knew she would appreciate it more as a place to return to, rather than a place to spend all her days.

When Bishop returned from the temple that evening, she told him of her intention to get back on the road and he didn’t even bother masking his relief.

He never told her about Vilkas’s role in his injury – he wasn’t about to stoop to that coward’s level. It wasn’t as if he was concerned for his safety – neither of the overgrown ice-brains had anything on him, but he was more than happy not to have to see their faces again, even if it was only for a time.

He even gladly suggested heading north to retrieve that relic the Greybeards wanted.

He never thought it was possible, but even the old fossils were somewhat preferable to the slobbering dogs at Jorrvaskr. Besides, he was curious to see Aeyrin standing up to the old men.

Hopefully, they would get a chance for her to train her Shouts a bit more, to show them just how little need of their ‘restraint’ she had.

Aeyrin told her newfound comrades that she and Bishop would leave in the morning.

The brothers tried to convince her otherwise, even suggesting that she needed more training. If that were true, she would certainly not get it by hanging back and watching their tails. Besides didn’t she actually defeat Vilkas in combat? Why did they still act like she was an inexperienced whelp?

Aela and Skjor seemed to take the news more in stride, ensuring her that she had a place to stay whenever she returned to Whiterun. Aela even went out of her way to tell Bishop that he was always welcome in Jorrvaskr, and that if he ever decided to join their ranks, they would be proud to accept.

She did seem friendlier towards both of them once the initial suspicious glances subsided.

Bishop even found a worthy drinking companion in her – he rarely met someone who could match him drink for drink and still remain standing. She even promised that the next time they made their way to Whiterun, they would celebrate together and then go on a nighttime hunt to see which of them would return with more prey after getting plastered.

They all feasted and celebrated that night, enough to not be able to set out on their journey until the next afternoon.

…

“YOL!”

The tall marsh grass turned to ashes in a matter of seconds, but a nearby tree wasn’t spared the flames either – the wood was damp from the humid air but it still caught fire easily.

“Is that our new campfire?” Bishop smirked in amusement.

“I didn’t think it would reach the tree…” Aeyrin sighed, it was only the second time she tried that Shout, but it somehow seemed more potent than last time. Was that even possible?

“It’s fine, now you know. Just go on,” he gave her an encouraging nod as she turned back towards the piles of ash on the ground in front of her.

“FUS RO!”

The ashes were sent flying in the air with great force, far enough not to catch in their noses and throats. The burning tree was again not spared, toppling down fast and igniting another patch of tall grass.

Aeyrin sighed – that wasn’t planned either.

“Didn’t they say that more words meant more power?” Bishop asked, watching the flames subside slowly.

“I tried! It’s like they come out on their own. I wanted to only say the first one,” she huffed in frustration, burying her head in her hands.

“Relax, you barely started practicing this. Besides, you already managed to control it once, you’ll manage again,” he placed his hand on her shoulder in encouragement briefly before crouching down in the middle of the now cleared patch of ground and setting up a campfire.

She considered lighting the campfire with a Shout, but it would likely send all the stones and wood flying. Instead, she spread out her bedroll, fishing in her pack for some meat and mushrooms to throw on the fire.

Karnwyr finally approached them tentatively, lying by their feet. He seemed uneasy with Shouting, always looking around for danger, as if he wasn’t aware that it was Aeyrin making those sounds. He was likely worried about dragons – he did retreat every time they encountered one.

It was for the best, battling dragons was difficult enough without having to worry about another member of their little band.

“This place is bleak,” Aeyrin shivered again. It was getting increasingly cold as they traveled, but Bishop assured her that it was still nothing compared to the ‘real north’. She didn’t want to know what _he_ considered ‘real north’, this was already a far cry from anything she even experienced in the Jerall Mountains, not to mention the grueling journey across the Stonehills to get to the cold swamps. The humidity of the marshes made the cold even worse.

“Yeah, Hjaalmarch is pretty drab. We should stop at Morthal on our way back for some supplies. Then you’ll see ‘bleak’,” he smirked.

“You can come here, if you’re cold,” he grinned at her insolently, outstretching his arm in invitation.

She rolled her eyes, knowing that she would not escape the comments, but it was too tempting. The cold seemed to be seeping into her bones.

She huddled close to him, nestling her back into his chest as he draped a thick fur blanket around her shoulder, curling his arm across her stomach.

“So…”

“Stop,” she interrupted him immediately, earning an amused chuckle from him.

She was a bit more at ease with getting closer to him after their talk in Brittleshin Pass, but she still had reservations. Back then, she missed the familiarity they shared sorely but now she was still not sure whether she was willing to let things get further.

Perhaps now when he wasn’t the only person she had in Skyrim, things would be different, she wouldn’t be that scared of losing him if their relationship turned sour.

But she wasn’t ready to test that theory just yet.

…

They entered the ruins of Ustengrav in the morning, leaving Karnwyr hunting outside.

Aeyrin planned to practice her Shouts against enemies and the wolf was at times hard to keep track of in the fray.

It was another ancient barrow crawling with draugr and skeletons – therefore a perfect place to train her new fiery Shout.

They settled back into their comfortable combat routine, with Aeyrin adding her new powers into the repertoire from time to time.

She always had to make sure it was safe – that Bishop wasn’t anywhere near the line of impact and that there wasn’t anything that could compromise the structure of the ruin and tumble onto them.

After some time, she even managed to use only one word of her force Shout, controlling its impact.

The progress excited her.

Now she was confident that she could eventually master these powers and wield them effectively without fear of the consequences. Perhaps even absorbing the souls of the dragons wouldn’t be so grueling after some time? Maybe she could eventually control that too. Not that she was complaining about the lack of opportunities – it was definitely not something that she was looking forward to.

They eventually reached an enormous, beautiful natural cavern in the depths of the ruin – the ceiling uncovered, there were tall trees springing from the ground and the sunlight made for a breathtaking scene in the eerie cavern.

It reminded them a bit of the Eldergleam sanctuary – with decidedly less greenery… and more undead.

Aeyrin heard the soft drumming, somewhere in the distance but she couldn’t see the Wall anywhere.

The cavern was so large, it was hard to keep track of everything as the undead approached them from several directions. She tried to get herself into the fray but the drumming got louder and louder, distracting her and making her look around frantically every so often.

It seemed that the ancient tongue was insistent on calling to her.

She tried to calm herself, ignore the sounds and concentrating on battle, but it was becoming impossible.

She felt her heart racing in panic, her grip on her mace and shield a bit more unstable, as all she could hear was that incessant noise.

Bishop noticed her staggered movements from his vantage point. There was still a number of undead rushing towards her, but she didn’t even seem to notice them, concentrating on a draugr that was already half-dead on the ground.

He did his best to thin the herd, hoping the direction of his arrows would tell her to watch her back, but she didn’t even register his attacks. She turned on her heel several times, looking around, but she didn’t stop her eyes at the direction of the approaching enemies.

Fuck, what was she doing?

Did she just drop her weapon?

She placed her free hand on the side of her head inexplicably. Bishop tried his best to get rid of anything that got near her but there were still several of them, running at her with weapons drawn.

“Shout!” he yelled at her, alerting the undead to his presence, but it wasn’t as if they didn’t have an easier target right in front of them.

She didn’t react.

It was only when the creatures were upon her, one of them planting its axe against the chainmail on her flank when she yell out in pain, quickly reacting at their presence.

“YOL!”

The corpses around her burst into flames, only two of them remaining standing, easy enough to shoot in their staggered state.

He got rid of the creatures and rushed to her side.

“Ladyship, what the fuck?” he started to check her injuries as she crumpled to the ground, but there was no blood on her flank – the chainmail withheld the slash, she was likely only bruised.

She finally opened her eyes, but they looked out of focus.

It reminded him of the time when she almost got killed by the large draugr in Bleak Falls Barrow. It was when she saw that Wall.

Fuck, that was probably it.

He looked around the large cavern but he didn’t see anything resembling the ancient runes. She said the Walls glowed, but he never saw that.

Then, he finally noticed a small ledge by the cobbled part of ruins where they were – it must have led lower into the cavern – that area didn’t seem accessible from his vantage point.

He gathered her in his arms and rushed towards the ledge, noticing a winding pathway leading from it. It was strangely suspended and it looked rather unstable, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Descending the pathway carefully, his feet finally hit solid ground at the bottom of the natural cavern.

There he trained his eyes on the carved Wall only a short distance away.

_FEIM_

She slowly returned to her senses, the incessant drumming finally subsiding and the black fog disappearing from before her eyes.

She was lying on the ground, Bishop crouching above her, looking her over worriedly.

She felt him take her into his arms before but she was too focused on the lack of sight and hearing to notice what was happening until she saw the glowing runes in front of her.

She collected herself, but flinched at the dull pain in her flank, remembering something hitting her there hard.

“An axe, didn’t go through the chain,” Bishop stated as she looked over her side with a frown.

“I remember, but I couldn’t see or hear anything,” she shook her head.

“That’s… not good. Next time you start hearing that shit, let me know. Apparently we need to get you to these Walls fast.”

Aeyrin gave him a weak smile, getting up with a little effort.

“You wanna try it out?” he asked and started walking away from her, putting himself a safe distance away, his back against the ancient Wall to make sure that he wouldn’t be thrown across the entire room.

It would have been helpful if she actually understood those words, then they wouldn’t have to take such measures for testing them.

“FEIM!”

They braced themselves for the destruction to come but instead a soft blue glow started to envelop Aeyrin’s body.

There was a strange tingly feeling coursing through her and her skin started to appear transparent despite the new glow. Instinctively she reached out to a nearby rock, her hand flowing right through it as if it weren’t even there.

It only lasted a short while, returning her body to normal in a minute or two with no ill effects.

“That might be useful next time a dragon tries to eat you,” Bishop smirked as they made their way up the winding pathway back to the ruin.

…

The rest of the dungeon was filled with strange challenges, obviously designed for someone with the ability to use the Voice.

Aeyrin worried that they would hit a wall eventually, since she didn’t really know many Shouts yet, but that luckily didn’t happen.

The hordes of the undead thinned gradually, until they finally defeated one particularly persistent group of draugr in what appeared to be a significant chamber.

There was an altar in the middle with countless runes in the ancient dragon tongue all over it.

Bishop yelled out at her during the battle with the draugr, asking whether she heard the drumming again. He had no idea if the glowing words appeared only on the strange Walls or if any piece of dragon script could work like that.

Luckily, no such thing happened and they managed to dispose of their enemies with only a few scrapes and scratches.

They approached the altar tentatively, looking it over.

Four carved dragon head statues decorated the four edges of the piece and in the middle a stone hand was outstretched – empty as if waiting for an object to hold.

“Do you think that’s where the horn was supposed to be?” Aeyrin frowned at the empty hand. It definitely looked like it was supposed to hold something.

“Don’t know. Maybe not, maybe it’s still somewhere further in. Who knows where it could be,” he shrugged noncommittally, but the altar _did_ look suspicions.

Aeyrin scoffed, again frustrated by her lack of knowledge on dragon language: “If you had a horn, where would _you_ put it?”

Bishop’s brows shot up, his expression turning into a lascivious grin in a second.

“Divines, you really need to get your mind out of the gutter,” Aeyrin rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing brightly, a small smile tugging at her mouth. She _did_ walk into that one.

“Look!” he pointed to the ground below the altar, his smile disappearing as he picked up a folded note.

It definitely didn’t spend a long time in the dungeon, there wasn’t even any dust on it.

.

_Dragonborn,_

_I need to speak to you._

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you._

_A friend_


	30. Mortals

“Sweetness, I am _begging_ you, make it stop.”

Bishop buried his head in his hands, covering his ears desperately.

Did he just say he was ‘begging’?

She was about to relent, but this was getting too good.

She shrugged with indifference: “Maybe later.”

The sound was quite jarring, but who was she to judge anyone’s artistic expression.

The music stopped for a brief second, making Bishop sigh out in relief before it picked up again and the young Orc in a colorful outfit put his powerful vocal cords to work again.

The Redguard innkeeper approached them, carrying a tray with food and setting it on the small table. “Is that a lute?” she narrowed her eyes at the instrument strapped to Aeyrin’s pack on the ground. “Is one of you a bard? Would you be interested in playing here tonight?” her eyes looked so hopeful.

“Yes! She would!” Bishop exclaimed immediately not giving her a chance to respond.

“Great! I’ll tell him! You probably need to prepare right? Tune the instrument or something? For… I don’t know… two, three hours? He shouldn’t disturb you during that!” the innkeeper headed towards the Orc immediately, making him stop his tune and explaining something with a feigned apologetic expression on her face.

The Orc looked very disappointed, but nodded eventually, heading towards the rooms.

“Virkmund, tell everyone there’s a traveling bard here tonight!” the Redguard clasped her hands together excitedly, calling out to the small boy poking into the central fireplace.

Aeyrin sighed, digging into her food. “Guess I’ll have to pretend to tune my lute for two or three hours. Thanks for that,” she gave him a slight smirk.

“It’s for the greater good. You’re supposed to help the helpless, or some shit like that,” he laughed.

The Moorside Inn in Morthal was now blissfully quiet.

After leaving Ustengrav with nothing but an infuriatingly mysterious letter, Aeyrin and Bishop stopped in the town to gather some supplies and spend the night in the tavern.

The young Orc was a bit detrimental to their stay, but that has fortunately been taken care of now too.

The town was indeed ‘bleak’ and the inn was strangely empty. Perhaps it was due to the Orc’s performance. It begged the question why the innkeeper let him play in her tavern. She seemed no fonder of his music than anyone.

…

Slowly the inn began to fill, while Aeyrin pretended to fiddle with her lute.

She didn’t even know why, obviously the innkeeper didn’t expect her to actually tune it for hours. Perhaps the Orc would make his way back to the common room though and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Loud barking and growling was heard from outside at one point, followed by an angry young woman entering the tavern briskly. She had long black hair and a very low-cut dress, even in the cold. She swore a string of curses under her breath before exclaiming to the room: “Whose filthy mongrel just almost attacked me?!”

Bishop narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion – Karnwyr knew not to attack civilians, that would just get him into trouble, but he _did_ sometimes go crazy around certain people, like the Companions for instance. Bishop was convinced that whenever Karnwyr reacted to someone like that, it was a clear sign that there was something wrong with them.

He never figured out what though.

“What’d you do to him?” Bishop folded his arms across his chest, throwing the woman a mistrustful glare.

The woman looked at him for what seemed like a long time. It almost appeared as if she was appraising him. After a while, she only gave him a wry smile before answering in an exaggeratedly sweet voice: “Not a thing.”

The woman walked over to the bar, not paying him any more attention, but he still got a strange feeling from the interaction. He ran out for a while to check on his friend, but the wolf was completely fine, lying by the marsh near the inn’s entrance comfortably.

…

Soon enough the inn was quite full.

Apparently the people enjoyed the place well enough without the Orc’s singing.

Aeyrin stepped in front of the crowd, playing numerous songs from Cyrodiil for them.

Even the Orc got out of his room to see part of her performance but after a while, he shook his head in dislike and disappeared again. Maybe he actually had very particular musical tastes.

The other townspeople, however, seemed to enjoy her songs a lot, even asking her for an encore.

She returned to their table after the performance was done and several of the people thanked her and patted her on the back for making the inn ‘actually welcoming’.

After a short while, a young girl approached their table shyly, looking them over curiously.

“Hi,” she raised her hand in a brief wave, before hiding it behind her back gingerly. “Are you travelers?”

“We are,” Aeyrin smiled at her kindly, “I’m Aeyrin and this is Bishop.”

“I’m Helgi,” she curtsied a little, obviously still nervous to be talking to them, “Umm… I liked your songs… are you gonna play tomorrow too?” she avoided eye contact and fiddled with the hem of her overcoat.

“We’re likely leaving tomorrow, sorry,” Aeyrin shrugged.

“Oh! I have to ask today then…” the girl whispered to herself, hesitating for a while.

“What do you need to ask?” Aeyrin coaxed her with an encouraging smile.

“Missus Laelette told me not to ask, but I can’t win the bet otherwise,” the girl seemed to be less conflicted and more eager to justify her question.

“Just ask, girl. Winning bets is more important,” Bishop chuckled, taking a swig from his tankard.

Helgi smiled in agreement but returned to her reserved demeanor quickly.

“Ummm… is it true, that there are… dragons on the roads?” she looked at them wide-eyed in anticipation of the answer.

Aeyrin and Bishop shared an uncertain look, but there was hardly any more reason to hide this. She would have found out sooner or later and word traveled fast in Skyrim.

“Well… maybe not on the roads… they mostly live on mountains,” Bishop shrugged as the girl gaped at him with her mouth ajar in wonder.

“But you have nothing to worry about. There are guards in the town, they would protect it from a dragon,” Aeyrin added quickly, not sure whether the girl was scared or excited.

She nodded a bit, looking into the ground, then frowning deeply: “Now I have to get Virkmund a sweetroll. It will cost me all my pocket money!”

Bishop and Aeyrin chuckled at her pouting face, before Aeyrin remembered something Helgi said: “Why did this… Laela… tell you not to ask us?”

Helgi shrugged, still frowning. “Not you... Virkmund said last week that there’s been dragons on the roads and I didn’t believe him. So we made a bet… for a sweetroll,” she looked at the ground for a second, obviously very upset over the sweetroll, “I met his momma Laelette a bit later… she traveled out of town a few days back so I asked her. She said I shouldn’t ask silly things, that I shouldn’t concern myself anyways ‘cause I’m mortal.”

Bishop and Aeyrin’s smiles disappeared suddenly, sharing a concerned look.

“Because you’re _mortal_?” Aeyrin asked carefully, not sure if perhaps the girl didn’t misunderstand the woman.

“Yup. I asked papa what it meant, he said it meant I was gonna die one day. Like grandpop did. But he said that everyone will. So I guess that’s fine,” she grinned at them cheerfully. “I asked momma to be sure. She said that everyone is mortal too,” she nodded assuredly, her index finger raised as if she was lecturing them. “You two are mortal too,” she smiled again but frowned after a bit, pondering something. “Are dragons mortal too?” she looked at them wide-eyed again, another question plaguing her mind.

“Y-yes,” Aeyrin answered, still a bit staggered by the conversation.

“Does that… does that mean that when we die, there’ll be dragons too?” she looked worried again, waiting for them to answer.

They stayed quiet for what seemed to be a long while, their eyes on the girl in genuine bewilderment.

“Nah… they… will be in a different place,” Bishop cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Helgi smiled at them in relief. “That’s good. Hey! I’ll bet Virkmund for a sweetroll that there won’t be dragons when we die! Now I’m sure to win!” she exclaimed excitedly while clasping her hands together

“Thanks!” she beamed them a grateful smile and ran off out of the inn as they still stared after her.

“Fuck… that was… creepy, right?” if she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn she noticed Bishop shiver.

“Who calls a child ‘mortal’?! It almost sounds like this Laelette… isn’t,” Aeyrin gave Bishop another worried look. “Maybe it’s nothing, but I’d like to look into this tomorrow. Maybe talk to this woman,” she added. The girl’s casual attitude was understandable – she didn’t understand the implications – but it was highly unnerving.

Bishop narrowed his eyes for a while, looking towards the direction of the bar.

Could it be that the black haired woman was this Laelette? Maybe Karnwyr actually sensed something… not mortal about her.

“Wait here for a second,” he nodded to Aeyrin, heading towards the bar.

She watched as he ordered another drink and waited at the bar, casually striking up a conversation with the dark-haired woman in the low-cut dress.

That woman was very beautiful, accentuating her looks with deep red lipstick and tall elegant boots under the knee-length dress.

She saw that smug smirk on his face, resulting in the woman’s hearty chuckle. She than casually laid her hand on his upper arm, sliding it down towards his elbow slowly as she was telling him something.

Was he actually flirting with that woman? Right now? Out of the blue? And in front of _her_? Was this some strange ploy to make her jealous? That would be pathetic. So pathetic it made her angry… or was it the woman pawing at him that made her angry? Dammit… something so cheap couldn’t work on her… could it?

Bishop received his drink and she noticed him giving the dark-haired woman a charming smile as he turned to return to Aeyrin.

He sat back at the table, giving her expression a questioning look before stating matter-of-factly: “That wasn’t Laelette. But I didn’t ask who was. Too suspicious.”

What? Was he pretending to ‘investigate’ that woman? Yeah, right…

“Why would you think _she_ was Laelette?” Aeyrin asked disdainfully.

Bishop looked at her a bit surprised, then smiled to himself as in realization and gave her an amused smirk. “Because of the whole ‘mortal’ shit and because of Karnwyr lunged at her earlier, obviously,” he was still smiling arrogantly.

“Oh…” Aeyrin still couldn’t will her frown to disappear “Well… that’s like a two sentence conversation, what were you talking to her about for so long?” she barked, mentally cursing herself. She sounded insane.

Bishop leaned closer to her, his expression making her want to punch him… or kiss him… no punch, definitely punch.

“She was just being ‘friendly’,” he gave her a feigned innocent smile followed by a hearty laugh.

Why was he always so intent on getting her flustered?

He watched her face with satisfaction for a while before speaking again: “So, to spare you the jealous outburst,” he snorted “I was trying to make the conversation inconspicuous. If that _was_ Laelette and she wasn’t exactly ‘mortal’, I didn’t want her to get suspicious and bolt… or attack. But it’s really heartwarming how invested you are, sweetness.” For a brief moment, his smile betrayed a bit of genuine affection below the layer of smugness.

“Don’t… don’t get so full of yourself… it was just… weird…” she stuttered blushing furiously, turning her gaze to her tankard stubbornly.

…

A loud roar awakened them in the middle of the night.

It was unmistakable.

They both quickly strapped on their gear while more roars, rumbles and screams sounded through the cracks in the inn’s walls.

When they were ready for battle, they nearly crashed into each other, running out of their respective rooms.

Outside, the fight already raged on – numerous guards were gathered around the jarl’s longhouse with the beast sat atop its roof.

Several men in guard armor shot arrows at it with wild abandon as the others stood below the beast, trying to goad it to descend.

They noticed a large creature floating towards the beast, a dizzying swirl of large rocks and lightning – an atronach. A Redguard in purple robes was standing near the longhouse, hiding from the dragon’s sight and watching his creation in trepidation as it shot a ray of lightning bolts at the beast’s maw.

Bishop readied his bow immediately while Aeyrin rushed towards the beast.

She couldn’t do anything while it was on the roof, but maybe she would get its attention.

She didn’t even need to try, the dragon spotted her in the corner of its eye and there seemed to be a glint of… recognition. Were these beasts actually able to tell her apart from other men and mer?

She was only half-way to the longhouse when the creature soared, circling once, then stopping in the air just above her, its maw lighting with cold white-blue crystals.

There wasn’t enough time to dodge and she knew what was to come, but this time she was ready. This time she wasn’t afraid of her power.

“FEIM!”

The Shout rumbled through the air as shocked gasps were heard from the direction of the longhouse.

The ray of frost laced the nearby buildings and a wide area of the ground, but the elf herself was completely unharmed.

An arrow swished towards the beast’s eye as the remaining guards composed themselves and resumed their barrage.

Soon enough, the beast tumbled to the ground where the melee fighters stabbed and smashed it with wild abandon, the atronach floating above, continuously shocking the beast, making it spasm perpetually.

Eventually the creature roared for the last time, the light slowly enveloping it.

Bishop scanned the crowd for Aeyrin but before he could manage to locate her in the fray of panicked guards she suddenly appeared before him, darting to his arms herself, seeking shelter from what was to come.

He clutched her to himself firmly as some of the guards gave them confused looks, most of them however were concentrating on the dragon, now gradually enveloped in white-blue fog and crystals.

The horrible pain came soon after.

Deep down she hoped that her training and her new attitude would lessen it somewhat but they didn’t. It was just as bad as that time in the Rift – her body enveloped in the unbearable cold as it seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. She didn’t even feel herself cry out or slump but Bishop had to support her whole weight so that she didn’t tumble to the ground – not that she was heavy per say but her equipment certainly was.

The guards watched in both awe and horror as he clutched the shaking woman who just moments ago withstood a dragon’s attack without as much as a scratch.

The need to persevere slowly drowned out the penetrating cold as she was finally able to breathe out and open her eyes slightly.

Bishop smiled down at her as he noticed her slowly regain herself, loosening his suffocating grip on her and stroking her hair briefly.

The guards and the wizard stood in stunned silence, watching them for what seemed like a long while.

Then the cheers and laughs set in, louder than the dragon’s roar.

The rest of the night passed in blur of congratulations, celebrations and expressions of gratitude.

…

After the eventful night, they spent their time sleeping until midday.

Their lunch got prolonged by numerous townspeople coming in to see the Dragonborn, thanking her again for the heroic dragon slaying. Aeyrin was trying hard not to think about how decidedly less heroic it would have been without all the guards and the wizard around. They had yet to kill a dragon just the two of them – she often thought back on what would have happened to them if the dragon at the Throat of the World didn’t retreat. She was sure they both would have been done for.

As one of the guards from last night joined them at their table, excitedly reliving the battle, Aeyrin remembered an issue that has been bothering her and decided to inquire further.

“I was hoping to ask someone about Laelette,” she said carefully, still not sure what to expect from Helgi’s strange words.

“Oh. Yes… tragic, really,” the guard lowered his head solemnly.

“Tragic?!” Aeyrin asked frantically. Did that woman do anything to Helgi?

“Yes, well… they found her this morning… well… it what was left.”

Aeyrin and Bishop gave him a confused look as he sighed, obviously not happy about relaying the information.

“Well, they found… remains… from the waist down… they had her clothes – Laelette’s – and she didn’t come back home last night… and with the dragon… well, we put two and two together,” he rubbed the back of his head nervously and sighed again. “Well… thanks again, you two… if you weren’t here… maybe more would meet that fate,” he gave them a weak smile and left the inn in a much worse mood then when he entered.

Bishop and Aeyrin only shared a surprised look before Bishop shrugged: “Huh… I guess she was ‘mortal’ after all.”


	31. Burden of Proof

The journey to Riverwood seemed particularly long.

Not only did they have to traverse the freezing Stonehills again, much to Aeyrin’s dismay, but the constant pondering and anticipation about who would be waiting for them as this mysterious ‘friend’ was making the time pass slower.

They finally reached the Sleeping Giant Inn, leaving Karnwyr resting on the porch at its entrance.

When they got inside, Aeyrin headed towards the innkeeper immediately, not being able to stand the not-knowing anymore.

“We want to rent the attic room,” she said hurriedly without even as much as a hello.

Orgnar looked at her in bewilderment for a bit, noticing Bishop he nodded to him in greeting before turning back to her: “Do you _see_ an attic, lass?”

An awkward silence ensued as none of them knew how to proceed.

“There’s no attic, but we have a very nice room available, follow me, please,” a voice sounded from the corner of the tavern suddenly, breaking the awkwardness.

Bishop frowned at the woman – he saw her before, there was a rumor that she actually owned the inn but Orgnar was taking care of it. She was never this polite or courteous.

He and Aeyrin shared an uncertain look but followed the woman into the large room.

“Close the door,” she said quietly as all of them stepped across the threshold.

Bishop closed the door behind them but hid his hunting knife in the sleeve of his armor as he turned his back to them momentarily. The woman was being too suspicious.

She walked over to a large armoire and opened it – it was empty and she pushed against the back of it, revealing a hidden passage.

“This way,” she commanded as the three of them made their way down the narrow stone stairwell into a small room filled with various travelling supplies, books and maps.

The woman stood behind a table giving them both an appraising look before setting her eyes on Bishop with a scowl: “Was it really necessary to drag the girl along?”

Bishop threw an amused look at Aeyrin who just sighed – of course no one would think the elf was the Dragonborn rather than the Nord.

“Some ‘friend’ you are, you don’t even know who you’re calling here,” he smirked at the woman who only gave him a questioning look in surprise.

“You wanted to see me?” Aeyrin sighed, insinuating her identity clearly.

The woman’s brows shot up in surprise, then she narrowed her eyes dangerously.

“An elf? A _Bosmer_? This is a fucking joke right?!” she suddenly reached the hem of her dress and swiftly pulled out a dagger, pointing it at Aeyrin.

“They sent you, right? You’re not going to get me!” the woman was ranting, flustered and luckily distracted.

Aeyrin quickly grabbed at her wrist, squeezing her armored hand around it strongly, making the woman gasp and release her hold on her weapon.

“What are you doing? You asked to see me! You’re the one who sent me here!” Aeyrin exclaimed, not letting go of her wrist.

“I know you’re a spy! It’s too much of a coincidence!” the woman spat angrily, piercing Aeyrin with a hateful glare.

“A spy? For who?” Aeyrin shook her head in confusion while Bishop moved towards the woman, pointing his knife at her throat so that Aeyrin could let go of her hand safely.

“Your precious Dominion!” the woman spat angrily again, earning a laugh from Bishop.

“What?! You think I’m a Thalmor spy just because I’m a Bosmer?” Aeyrin asked in bewilderment. “Do you just assume that about every elf? Isn’t there a Bosmer here in the village? Is he a spy too?” she couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the situation, both in frustration and in bafflement at her behavior.

“Faendal checks out, I already investigated him. But a Bosmer coming here, claiming to be a Nord hero…” the woman huffed in indignation, trying to move a bit but Bishop promptly pressed his knife closer to her neck in warning.

“Well… what do you want me to do? I’m not Thalmor… Praise Talos and all that, if it makes you feel any better.”

Bishop laughed again as Aeyrin scoffed, not really sure how to convince someone that she wasn’t a spy. The Stormcloaks at the border certainly didn’t believe her either.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” the woman shook her head but didn’t speak further, obviously not knowing how to make sure either.

“I can Shout if you want… but here’s really not a good place for that,” Aeyrin shrugged again. She had half a mind to walk away from that woman, but it was quite possible that she knew something about the Dragonborn and maybe she would be of some help.

The woman seemed to ponder for a bit, before asking: “Can you really? Are you really the Dragonborn? Then tell me how you found my note in that ruin,” she gave her a challenging look.

“What do you mean? We just… went through the ruins… there were some rooms that could only be traversed with the help of the Thu’um if that’s what you want to hear,” Aeyrin shrugged as the woman slowly nodded, seemingly more trusting then before.

“How did _you_ get in?” Bishop narrowed his eyes.

“The back entrance… I got some information about its location,” the woman sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to attack you… It was just… a shock… the Thalmor have… made things difficult in the past,” she said dejectedly, shooting Bishop a strangely pleading look.

“First, tell us who _you_ are,” Aeyrin said determinedly, this woman was changing moods like smallclothes, who knew what she was capable of.

“My name is Delphine. I own the inn here. I’m also a… member of the Blades.”

Aeyrin remembered reading some books about the blades back at the chapel; they were somewhat popular in Cyrodiil. The Blades were and order sworn to protect the Emperor long ago.

“I’ve heard of them. I thought they were gone,” Aeyrin pondered.

“Most of us are… mostly at the hands of the Thalmor. What remains of our order has been looking for a next Dragonborn for a long time,” Delphine answered, still glancing warily at Bishop’s knife.

“Dragonborn? Why? I thought you protected Emperors.”

“We protected the Septim line… the Dragonborn Emperors. Before that, we were dragon hunters, and now… now we need to return to our true purpose,” determination glinted in her eyes as she spoke.

“You’re awfully chatty now, what if she’s a spy?” Bishop smirked, pressing the blade a bit closer to her neck again.

“Then it wouldn’t matter, would it? A Thalmor would know these things anyways,” anger returned to her voice as she answered him. “Why is _he_ here anyways? I only asked for the Dragonborn,” she turned back to Aeyrin.

“He’s my companion. And your precious Dragonborn would already be dead several times over without him,” Aeyrin replied somewhat coldly but still shot Bishop a brief warm smile.

“Seriously? I’ve seen him around before. All he does is drink,” Delphine scoffed derisively.

“It’s a fucking tavern, what else would I be doing here?!” Bishop shook his head with a wry smile.

Delphine sighed in resignation, her tone turning more gentle again: “I know that this… didn’t go well… but, please, if you really are the Dragonborn I have important information for you. But I need proof.”

Aeyrin nodded at Bishop who finally lowered his knife, eliciting a deep sigh of relief from Delphine.

“We can go further from the village, I can Shout there,” Aeyrin nodded, now sorely curious about the alleged information.

“That’s… not enough,” Delphine sighed again, shaking her head “Anyone can Shout, the Greybeards, even Ulfric Stormcloak. The Thu’um can be learnt. No. I need a different proof. I need to see you absorb a dragon’s soul.”

Aeyrin frowned at the notion. She wasn’t exactly eager to throw herself on a dragon voluntarily.

“No fucking way,” Bishop piped up suddenly. “We don’t even know if you have anything useful. The old fossils claimed to be of use too and weren’t. Why the fuck should she suffer for you voluntarily? Where’s your ‘proof’?” Bishop was wearing a deep scowl. It was somewhat touching that he was worried about her. Then again, it might just have been his paranoia talking.

“Suffer?” Delphine raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“Absorbing the soul… it’s kind of… painful,” Aeyrin flinched as she explained. She still wasn’t sure if the ordeal could kill her – after all, she had a myriad of feelings during every consuming of a soul that felt all too real but luckily weren’t.

“That’s… unfortunate… but likely necessary to overcome,” Delphine sighed, grabbing one of the maps and splaying it on the table.

“I _do_ have some information that I should give you… you can take it as my ‘proof’,” she frowned at Bishop briefly before turning to the map. “Do you remember the stone you retrieved from Bleak Falls Barrow? Another thing that made this too much of a coincidence...” she mumbled the last part mostly to herself.

“Farengar decrypted it and confirmed our suspicion. The dragons are not just coming back. They’re coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life,” Delphine paused a bit, letting her information sink in.

“The Dragonstone was a map of ancient dragon burial sites. I've looked at which ones are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear. It seems to be spreading from the southeast, down in the [Jeralls](https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Jerall_Mountains) near [Riften](https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Riften). The one at [Kynesgrove](https://en.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Kynesgrove) is next if the pattern holds," she paused again pointing out the crossed out marks on the map with her finger. "Here. Kynesgrove. There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it… or how it happens at the very least.”

…

The journey to Kynesgrove was long and uncomfortable – neither of them trusted each other fully so they were constantly on alert.

Luckily, Karnwyr was there to be vigilant whenever they needed rest, but it wasn’t enough to ease their fears.

They finally reached Kynesgrove in little less than a day and a half, the roads blessedly peaceful through their journey.

Delphine did ask about some details about Shouting and absorbing souls and Aeyrin obliged her, not really seeing a reason to keep the information secret, but the woman herself was stubbornly tight-lipped about her order and any further information.

She still seemed somewhat convinced that Aeyrin was a pretender, likely leading her to a Thalmor ambush. Bishop did mention that if they wanted her dead or captured, they already had a million opportunities but that didn’t seem to ease her mind.

When they reached the lone large building near a campsite littered with tents, they noticed a dark-haired woman running towards them frantically and crying out: “Quick! Get inside! A dragon!” She hurried towards the building, not waiting for them to follow.

“Looks like we’re too late…” Delphine sighed.

“Well, we at least need to kill it. The people here are in danger,” Aeyrin frowned continuing up the hill quickly.

As they made their way towards the burial ground a strange deep voice rumbled through the air: “Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!”

“What the fuck was that?” Bishop frowned, as a haunting sight could be glimpsed behind the trees.

Aeyrin recognized it right away – the ominous swirl of fiery-gold and deep ebony black glinting through the thick needles of the trees. The colors were hard to forget – they covered her entire view when the giant black dragon spread its wings right in front of her as she lay on the executioner’s block in Helgen.

She wasn’t sure whether there were more like him, but she desperately hoped that it was only the one. The destruction of the entire city was, hopefully, not a feat that every dragon could perform.

“It’s… the one from Helgen,” she whispered, now wary of attracting its attention.

“Let’s investigate,” Delphine hissed with a furrowed brow, likely aware of the havoc that the dragon wreaked in that town.

Each of them made their way carefully to a different cover, choosing so that their view was not obstructed. The dragon didn’t seem to notice them, fortunately, but it continued its strange deep speech: “Slen tiid vo!”

A terrifying sight unfolded before them as a skeleton of a dragon animatedly crawled out of the burial ground. The black dragon was soaring above it, almost proudly, its fiery wings shimmering dizzyingly in the setting sun and its black scales glistening like the Void itself.

The black dragon opened its maw and a strange purple orb made its way towards the animated skeleton, stretching around the ancient bones upon impact.

Then the familiar warm white light appeared, traveling across the dragon’s body.

They have seen it before, how the light stripped the dragons of their flesh before making its way to Aeyrin – it was likely the dragon’s essence – its soul.

This time, however, the flesh gradually appeared on the skeleton instead in a twistedly reversed process.

In a little while a healthy brown-grey dragon lay on the burial mound, gazing at its black life-giver: “Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?”

It spoke too. Could all of them speak? Maybe there were more intelligent than it appeared.

“Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir,” the black beast rumbled.

It soared higher after a while, then turned around, now its attention turned to the tall rock behind which Aeyrin was peeking out, attempting to both hide and see what would happen.

Did it know she was there? Did it see her? Did it remember her?

“Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi,” it spoke again, the tone almost… mocking.

She heard the word.

‘Dovahkiin’.

The Greybeards called her that from time to time.

It knew.

It knew she was there and what’s worse, it knew who she was.

Eerie quiet rained upon them for a while.

She considered showing herself from behind her cover, the dragons knew about her anyways, but her legs refused to obey her. The dragon _knew_ her. It spoke to her.

Then… the next rumble to come out of the black beast left her chilled to the bone: “You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.”

The creature actually knew common tongue. She thought they were monsters, no more intelligent than bears or trolls. She thought that the ‘dragon tongue’ was an invention of men, trying to understand the beasts they worshipped in the ancient times. But the dragon on the Throat of the World _did_ Shout at her.

The Greybeards told her _nothing_ about this. Maybe they assumed she knew. They only ever told her of Shouts having the power of dragon’s attack. She assumed it was a weapon, a spell to take down the dragons, but it wasn’t. It was their own tool, used against them.

She really should have read up on Skyrim history before coming here.

“Sahloknir, krii daar joorre,” the black beast roared, apparently losing interest in Aeyrin.

It soared high into the sky, disappearing from sight rapidly.

It was likely for the best, after what she saw in Helgen, she was convinced they were already dead when the black dragon appeared.

The resurrected beast turned to her instead, flapping its wings.

The next thing she could feel was the unbearable heat surrounding the rock she was hiding behind. The dragon apparently tired of conversation and decided to attack. 

Aeyrin left her cover right after the fire subsided, facing the floating dragon.

Both Bishop and Delphine pulled out their bows, raining arrows on the beast as Aeyrin decided to test bringing the beast to the ground herself.

“FUS RO!”

The dragon staggered in the air, pushed back with the invisible force.

It seemed hardly fazed, however, maybe mildly annoyed if anything.

“Dovahkiin, your Voice is no match for mine!” the dragon roared.

It taunted her? Why did none of the other dragons speak before? Maybe they didn’t bother since they didn’t know she was the Dragonborn.

Now they knew.

She wondered if word traveled as fast among dragons as it did through Skyrim.

As she pondered, she noticed the beast charge at her, plummeting to the ground.

It was too late to get out of its trajectory. Or was it?

“WULD!”

She appeared at the dragon’s side just as it ended up face down in the ground.

Perfect.

She started to claw herself up on its neck without thinking. It was not about to escape her again.

She threw away her shield promptly, straddling the beast’s neck as it thrashed violently. One of her hands gripped firmly at the spike protruding from its scaly skin. It reminded her of her first horse ride. That horse did _not_ like her. But she couldn’t fight the dragon if it didn’t make its way down again.

This needed to be done, no matter the danger _._

 _Be bold against enemies and evil._ The words were ringing in her ears.

Well, she did come here to learn more of the ways of Talos.

The hand that wasn’t desperately clinging to the spike started to descend with her mace between the dragon’s eyes, pummeling it furiously. The dragon roared and suddenly she felt its thick neck press up against her heavily – the monster was taking off.

She didn’t let up, even as it raised its neck, nearly making her fall, she continued to smash her mace into its face with her remaining strength.

The dragon didn’t fly yet, but it did raise itself on its hind legs, forcing her to drop her weapon and cling to its neck for all she could.

It wasn’t that high, she would survive the fall, but she was not about to let go.

She needed to kill it. The need was familiar, like the one that overtook her when she consumed a soul.

She lifted herself up with a cry and lodged her armored boots into its scales. She felt the inertia as the dragon’s legs left the ground, the wings below her heaving and flapping furiously.

It had to be now.

She dared to let one of her arms loose, relying on her footing in the scales to carry her weight.

She gathered her strength and thrust her armored arm, right into the beast’s eye.

A sickening squishy sound echoed through her ears as she felt warmth and wetness envelop her hand while she pushed in resolutely.

With a furious roar the dragon received several more arrows into its underbelly, until the sound subsided.

The heaving of the wings suddenly stopped moving the dragon’s body and in a split second, she realized what was to come.

“FEIM!”

The last cry of survival instinct set in as her glowing translucent body stopped falling.

She noticed she was on the ground but she stayed on her back, breathing heavily.

The corner of her eye registered the crumpled beast near her, lighting up with the familiar flicker, fire engulfing its body.

She braced herself but felt so exhausted.

No. She had to overcome. She couldn’t let the soul kill her now, after what she just did. She was bolder in battle than she ever thought herself capable of.

She felt the lightness and tingling leave her body as she shut her eyes tight.

A strong hand gripped hers in a second, and a second one rested on her shoulder.

She still didn’t feel strong enough to move, preserving all that she had left to survive the pain.

It came to her swiftly; sweat pooling everywhere as the horrible heat engulfed her again. She thought she heard sizzling. Was her blood actually physically boiling? She wondered if there was smoke coming out of her skin. She noticed after a while that she was screaming and she willed herself to stop, after a while though she noticed she was screaming again. It was taking so long.

Finally the heat was starting to subside.

She didn’t get back up from her back, only opened her eyes weakly, her heavy breathing still not calming down.

She saw Delphine standing near her staring with her mouth ajar and she felt Bishop loosen his grip on her.

She focused her eyes on him after a while, he got up from the ground, a deep angry scowl on his face.

“What the actual fuck, woman?!” his voice was so loud, it made her head hurt.

“Are you fucking trying to kill yourself?! Fuck?! That was insane!!! _You_ are insane!!! Fuck!!!”

She saw him pacing back and forth furiously but her eyes soon started to close involuntarily.

She was so tired.


	32. Where We Left Off

They rested in Braidwood Inn in Kynesgrove to recover.

After Aeyrin got back to her senses and Bishop calmed down considerably, Delphine told them what she knew.

She knew nothing about the black dragon, but she did know that the beasts could speak and in fact that they used to have a whole society and hierarchy in the ancient times.

The Dragonborn were apparently warriors who stood up to the dragon overlords and helped men defeat them by using the Voice against the monsters.

Now the dragons were back and they were likely going to attempt to take over again.

However, Delphine’s theory included someone else behind the dragon resurrection - someone commanding the black dragon and perhaps others like it.

When she mentioned the Thalmor, Bishop and Aeyrin’s expression turned doubtful and exasperated. She was way too obsessed with the Dominion, she sounded like a crazy person. She _did_ mention their relentless efforts to eliminate the Blades but that didn’t really explain why they would want to resurrect dragons.

Delphine was however not deterred.

She did eventually return the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to Aeyrin, promising to investigate the dragon rising and the Thalmor further and staying in contact with them.

Bishop and Aeyrin decided to stay in the inn one more day, especially since the innkeeper Iddra provided them everything for free for saving them from the dragon.

Aeyrin spread her map on the table lazily, looking over the markings.

There were several crossed places there – Ustengrav, High Hrothgar, a myriad of caves and ruins in Whiterun hold where she explored with the Companions, some caverns in the Rift, the cave near Darkwater Crossing, Bleak Falls Barrow and the Eldergleam Sanctuary.

Also there was an unnecessarily large and obnoxious X where they rescued Karnwyr.

She considered getting a new map since he ruined that one, but it did kind of remind her how they met, putting a slight smile on her face.

Bishop sat himself beside her after his bath, a tankard already in hand.

“So, princess, where to next?” he peered at the map, noticing the distinct lack of dotted lines signaling an intended journey… well, except the one leading to Falkreath which he luckily managed to dissuade her from.

“Back to the Greybeards I guess. Just to return the horn, show them I passed their test.”

Bishop nodded. “Will you tell them about her?” he asked curiously.

Delphine asked them not to mention her or the Blades to the Greybeards – difference in philosophies she said. She was way too suspicious for their liking, but Aeyrin decided to respect her wishes for now. She could always tell them later, and Delphine did earn some trust by providing all the information that she did. It was much more than the old men ever admitted to knowing.

The knowledge of the dragons’ intellect still somewhat rattled Aeyrin, but it was not like they ever seemed willing to negotiate. Delphine was probably right – they were monsters just smart enough to torment those weaker than them. They have certainly proved their intent on destruction many times over.

“Then I was thinking of returning to Riften. I have gathered some fire salts for Balimund and the supplies that the Argonian asked me for,” she pondered. She also wondered whether it would be a good idea to inform the jarl of the skooma operation they disrupted, but Bishop seemed adamant about keeping her ‘crusades’ a secret. If the whole government of Riften was really corrupt, it was probably a smart thing to do.

She did wonder if perhaps the Altmer dealer made his way back to the city. She would love to deal with him.

Bishop frowned, not really eager to get anywhere near the Guild just for some errands, but it didn’t sound like it would take long.

…

They ate and drank some more, relaxing before another arduous ascend up the Throat of the World.

The calm atmosphere made way for some lighter thoughts, far from dragons, difficult journeys and life-threatening battles.

Bishop noticed Aeyrin throwing him glances, when she though he wouldn’t notice, more often.

Her resolve to remain only friends was wavering by the day. It didn’t go past her that he obviously cared about her. He stayed in Jorrvaskr with her, despite his disdain for the place and despite the coldness of their relationship at that time. He was always there when she needed support and even the way he got angry about her reckless maneuver in battle was telling.

Perhaps if their intimacy didn’t work out, their friendship would be able to withstand it.

He turned his head suddenly as she was looking at him ponderingly, his face right in front of hers, smirking, as if daring her to act.

She averted her gaze instinctively, eliciting an exasperated sigh from him.

A second later he placed his hand on her cheek, pulling her to face him and to lock eyes with him again.

“So, ladyship, let’s deal with this,” he started, a slight scowl on his face. “You know I want you, and you’re not so subtle yourself,” he smirked as he continued. “You were convincing me that you’re not mad about Ivarstead, so what’s the issue now? Why not just continue where we left off?” he gave her a smile that seemed even hopeful, the hand on her cheek stroking her gently.

“I just… I’m worried we’re not… right for each other. And I don’t want to risk…” she started to explain before he stopped her.

“What? Our friendship?” he scoffed “It’s already ruined when we feel like this. There’s no going back, princess. Now you’re just torturing yourself. And me,” his smirk turned sour as she pondered his words.

Maybe in time the infatuation _would_ pass… maybe. But right then, she couldn’t imagine it. She didn’t even remember the last time she looked at him and didn’t feel a little warm and nervous at the same time.

Was there even such a time as that?

He made his inclinations clear from the start and even when she resisted him, their developing friendship was still based on constant flirting and teasing.

It was all just too unfamiliar for her. She never felt that way about anyone. Once, her close friend from the chapel approached her about taking their relationship to the next level, despite his upcoming vigil. She remembered only being worried about her friend’s future, not being tempted to risk it and their friendship along with it at all.

It was so different with Bishop, she felt her resolve waver constantly around him.

“Didn’t you learn anything from your time with the fossils?” he smirked at her, his hand moving lower to rest on her neck, stroking up and down slowly.

What was he talking about? Hopefully he wasn’t referring to Ivarstead again.

He moved his head close, his lips right next to her ear, sending the familiar shivers down her spine as he began to speak: “Restraint is pointless. It’s instinct.”

Restraint _was_ pointless. It was the same with the Shouts. You can’t will yourself to stop it no matter how hard you try. You just hope to control it once it happens.

She leaned her head towards his almost unconsciously. He pressed his lips right below her ear and she felt him move them upwards, his tongue flicking over her earlobe and up towards the pointed tip, sending jolts through her entire body.

With her remaining resolve, she placed her hands on his chest, pulling back a little, looking deeply into his amber eyes, glittering with a strange intensity.

“Are you still willing to… wait? To take things slow?” she lowered her gaze, blushing deeply while fiddling with her fingers.

It was amusing how brave and reckless she could be in battle and how nervous and even fearful she seemed in situations like these.

He grabbed her chin, pulling her gaze back to him while nodding slowly in assurance.

Before he managed to lean in, she already pressed her lips to his, their kiss turning deep and passionate in a second, their tongues entwining eagerly as he entangled one hand in her hair, the other firmly placed at her lower back. He put pressure on both his hands occasionally, pulling her towards him even though that wasn’t physically possible anymore.

She placed both her hands on his head – alternating between stroking over his cheeks, rough with stubble, and brushing them through his soft hair. She let out a small muffled moan against his mouth as the hand on her back wandered lower, squeezing hungrily.

“Come on, show her who’s in charge!” a voice interrupted them and they parted with a start, staring morosely at the young man at the next table, watching them intently – it was Kjeld, the innkeeper’s son, a man-child unable to keep his mouth shut at any moment; they already exchanged a few heated words with him during their stay.

“Do you need me to show you?” he smirked before a large hand landed on the top of his head with a slap.

“Stop bothering the customers, boy! And you two, you have a fucking room. Use it. My boy’s impressionable,” the man’s father rumbled angrily as he returned to lugging a pile of wood towards the central fireplace.

Impressionable… if the boy was impressionable maybe he would have learned some manners at some point.

“We should really stop doing this in public…” Aeyrin chuckled quietly, her face bright red as she untangled herself from him.

Bishop threw another nasty glare at the grinning youth before he grabbed her by the wrist and led her towards his room, not intending to be done with her just yet.

She started to brush her hands against the fabric of his tunic, running them over his upper arms, chest and back eagerly as he all but threw her on the bed, positioning himself above her.

She felt up the hard contours of his body, especially the well-formed muscles on his torso, as they continued their frantic kissing. He kept teasing her ears and neck with his tongue and teeth, setting her skin on fire after every contact.

The dizzying experience flustered her even more when one of his hands mover from her flank towards her chest, closing in around her left breast through the cloth and squeezing it eagerly. She let out a gasp, tightening her grip on his back and bicep when his tongue traced a hot line down her collarbone towards her cleavage, his teeth sinking into her skin lightly just above her breast.

His excitement was palpable as he pressed himself against her more firmly, his right hand still stroking and squeezing her breast through the fabric as his left one traveled down her flank, gathering the hem of her tunic.

He moved her shirt upwards, uncovering a portion of her belly, pausing to give her a chance to protest, but pressing his lips over hers in the meantime, probing her mouth with his tongue and hungrily biting at her lower lip.

She wondered for a second whether she should stop him, but the kiss left her head spinning and right at that moment, she couldn’t help but want more.

She raised her arms as he let go of her, grabbing her tunic fully with both hands and swiftly disposing of it, throwing it to the other side of the room as his eyes roamed over her form – the perfect olive skin, free of any scars or blemishes, likely due to her restoration training, her shapely breasts, heaving from her heavy breaths, her nipples hardened temptingly from their ministrations.

She fought her instinct to cover herself right away, blushing profusely under his scrutiny. She got a little nervous at his unreadable expression but it turned into a satisfied and affectionate smile a moment later.

He lowered himself to her again, returning his right hand to her breast, now mercilessly exposed to his touch fully, as his mouth continued its attack on her skin, kissing, licking biting and suckling at her neck and moving lower, seemingly purposefully slowly.

She managed to collect herself long enough to be able to grab at the hems of his shirt in turn, determined to even the score. He obediently let go of her for a moment, letting her drape the tunic over his head and admire his physique for a second before he threw himself back at her eagerly, moving his mouth down to her breasts, kissing and suckling at them in turn as his hands joined the explorations eagerly, playing with her hardened nipples while she gave out low moans of pleasure and at times high-pitched gasps when he pinched or bit her sensitive spots unexpectedly.

They continued their pursuits longer into the night.

Despite what her body was demanding of her, Aeyrin asked him not to go any further and through clear frustration and struggle with self-control he complied.

She did tell herself that she needed to control this particular ‘instinct’ too and she wanted to decide when to get more intimate with a clear head.

Besides, there were other concerns she needed to address first…

Eventually their chaotic and frantic exploits calmed down gradually until they fell asleep, half-naked in each other’s arms.

…

He woke up to her soft lips brushing against the side of his neck.

He tightened his arm around her back, pressing her closer, her naked breasts squeezed up against his chest as her breath caught in her throat briefly.

The sounds she made were driving him crazy. He couldn’t wait to hear what she would sound like when she’d actually let him make her come. He did promise to go slow and wait, but last night was only another proof that the closer they got, the harder it was.

Literally...

No. None of those thoughts for now.

Although… maybe she would be up for some more exploration before they headed out. He moved his hand down to stroke over her firm backside, perfectly toned from years of walking and carrying heavy equipment. He roamed upwards over her arm and shoulder, noticing a few sparse dark marks on her collarbone and neck from last night’s exploits with satisfaction.

He did note that, considering her upbringing, she was surprisingly passionate and not overly concerned with him getting too wild or rough. That just made her instance on taking things slowly all the more baffling.

The anticipation was strangely enticing, though.

He never imagined there could be any pleasure found in frustration. Then again, he was still sure that there was considerably more pleasure in indulgence.

She groaned into his chest before patting his cheek gently. “We need to go…” she sighed.

“Why? What’s the rush?” he accentuated his point by squeezing one of her ass-cheeks with a chuckle.

“It’s almost midday. We can’t take advantage of Idda’s generosity anymore,” she gave a wry smile, pulling away from him with clear reluctance.

She tried covered her breasts briefly with her hands as he looked her over, obviously more aware of herself than during their last night’s escapades. He laughed as her cheeks reddened again at which point she gave up trying to preserve her modesty whit a slight smile and a shake of her head, using her hands instead to brush against his cheek with a gentle expression.

At seeing his reluctant face she gave him encouraging nod, getting up to retrieve her tunic from the ground: “Come on, if we hurry, we might make it to Riften by tomorrow.”

He followed suit, finally locating his own shirt under the bed and grumbling all the while: “You’re not trying to tell me we’ll be spending the night at that fucking monastery again, are you?”

She gave him an innocent look: “If you hurry, we might make it back to Ivarstead for the night.”

They both knew that would not happen – the journey took several hours even without the arduous ascend. Not to mention how long it would take in case the passes got snowed under again.

…

As expected, they spent the night at High Hrothgar.

For passing the test, Aeyrin was officially recognized as Dragonborn by the Greybeards – whatever that meant.

She returned the horn to them and told them about the happenings at Kynesgrove, leaving out anything related to Delphine.

They seemed quite nervous about the resurrection of the dragons, but were hardly surprised that the dragons spoke, effectively confirming all the historical facts that Delphine already provided.

Aeyrin got a bit angry and demanded to know why she wasn’t told any of this, but the Greybeards brushed her off arrogantly – they assumed she knew all about the history, and if she didn’t she only had herself to blame.

They did at least teach her the last part of her force Shout and gave her a book on dragon language – not one that would help her understand it fluently, but at the very least she could learn the meanings of the Words of Power.

Tired of their condescension she decided to demonstrate her handling of the shouts – controlling her force shout by stopping the next words to pour out of her mouth. She even attempted to end her new ethereal form prematurely but that was unsuccessful.

Nevertheless, the Greybeards nodded respectfully at her progress, lamenting again on the fact that they could not help her train her control.

Bishop reveled in the new attitude she showed when dealing with the old men. Instead of obedient she was eager to show them how powerful she was becoming and instead of letting them make her feel bad, she reminded herself of all the challenges she already overcome.

When time for sleep came, she even assertively proclaimed that she won’t have her companion sleep on the floor when she was more than fine sharing a bed with him.

They were not happy about that at all, but couldn’t really argue.

…

They headed towards Riften early in the morning, hoping that their journey wouldn’t be halted by the very inconspicuous ‘tax’.

They were wrong of course, the guards demanding even more money this time. And so they again resorted to the old smuggler’s route to the city.

Bishop sighed wistfully after the times when he was helping out the Guild. No guard had ever bothered him with shit like that when they vouched for him.

Then again, he wouldn’t regret it for long as this time around, instead of heading towards the warehouse to dry off, Aeyrin decided to warm up from the freezing water by pressing up against him and letting the sun warm them until their equipment made its way to them.


	33. Friends in Low Places

The market was still bustling when they made their way into the city.

Karnwyr didn’t catch up to them at the docks, but Bishop assured Aeyrin that his hunts in the Rift could last long and that he would be sure to wait at the docks by nightfall.

They usually split up at the markets to cover more ground in a short time, but this time, Bishop insisted on them staying together.

At first, she thought it was rather sweet, thinking he just didn’t want to spend time away from her, eventually though, she noticed his annoyed looks over their surroundings. He was likely just paranoid about the Guild. The man from the stall that revealed his past during their last visit in Riften wasn’t around this time and she wondered if his disappearance from the market made Bishop more alert.

Her lack of privacy, however, foiled her shopping plans at the alchemist – she was too embarrassed to ask for the ‘night medicine’ in front of Bishop. He would definitely take it as an invitation. She just wanted to be safe, just in case…

After they made the deliveries and gotten their supplies, Bishop ushered her towards the back gardens.

She had no idea what he wanted there but indulged him, finding the place eerily quiet as they passed the small cemetery.

“You are a fucking incompetent sneak, Raven, just get the fuck out and say your piece,” Bishop folded his arms across his chest with an annoyed look, speaking to the silent environment, much to Aeyrin’s surprise.

Suddenly a man slipped out from behind the crypt, the familiar black and brown buckled armor of the Guild blending with his shoulder-length dark hair.

He had a bashful smile as he approached them – like a mischievous child that got caught stealing a sweet roll.

“And Mercer said you lost your touch…” he chuckled at Bishop, his voice smooth and sweet like honey. “I wonder if you found the others too,” he smiled at him challengingly making Bishop roll his eyes at him.

“There are no others and cheap taunts don’t work on me. What do you want?” he grumbled, looking at the young Imperial impatiently.

The man turned to Aeyrin instead, nimbly capturing her hand in his and planting a soft kiss at the back of it. “A pleasure to meet you, Dragonborn. Rune mentioned you were a sight to behold, but to think that he wasn’t giving you enough credit…” he looked her over with another mischievous grin eliciting a frustrated groan from Bishop. She snatched her hand back quickly, his honeyed voice creeping into her ears and making her cringe.

“Cut the crap and get to the point,” Bishop growled through gritted teeth.

“Do you really want me to do that? The longer we keep this pleasant, the better for you,” he gave him a kind smile, followed by a sigh when he saw Bishop’s angry expression. He seemed reluctant to get to the business, but perhaps that was just posturing.

“Very well. I was informed that you had little… trouble at the gates. We can make sure that it never happens again,” he turned his gentle smile towards Aeyrin, likely hoping that she would be more receptive to his offers. His face was like that of a scammer, it reminded her of the red-haired man trying to sell her Falmer blood – it was no doubt some sort of a con.

“No. Done?” Bishop barked resolutely, forcing Raven’s attention back to him.

“That’s a shame. There’s rumors of guards posting some men at the docks soon… you know… to prevent smuggling.”

Aeyrin frowned at the man, not sure if he was genuinely informing them or blackmailing them. Based on Bishop’s scowl however, it was the latter.

“We don’t give a fuck. We’re out of this city. Soon,” Bishop retorted, his hands still folded across his chest. The conversation was turning strangely threatening but he didn’t make any move to defend himself if it came to blows.

It was all very strange.

Aeyrin hardly ever dealt with thieves and other seedy characters, save for Ri’zhassa – that was more than enough experience with the underworld for her.

“My dear, you should talk some sense into Bishop. Surely you’ll want to visit our fair city again,” Raven turned back to her, his sweet voice carrying an increasingly daunting undertone.

Did the Guild really have enough power to prevent them from entering Riften again? She was the Dragonborn, and as much as she would hate flaunting that, surely the jarl or the guard would welcome her presence in case of a dragon attack.

Bishop was adamant not to deal with them, but she couldn’t even imagine what they would want in return for their ‘favor’. 

“We don’t need anything from the Guild,” Aeyrin retorted determinedly, Raven’s sweet smile turning into a saddened expression. He sighed, rubbing his fingers between his brows exasperatedly.

“I really hoped that I wouldn’t have to do this…” he placed a hand on the wall of the crypt and a strange mechanic sound echoed through the empty cemetery.

“Fucking piece of shit…” Bishop growled at him and dropped his hands to his sides.

Strangely enough, he didn’t look like he was going to attack or run or generally do anything.

He looked… resigned.

Aeyrin’s eyes flicked towards the several figures appearing from the crypt, panic burning at the back of her neck.

What was happening?

Bishop knew how to deal with these people better than her but he was doing nothing. Why? What were they planning to do to them?

Two rogues stepped around Bishop – each on one side and two others did the same to Aeyrin.

She still pondered attacking or Shouting but she caught his eyes. He shook his head at her in warning. He likely thought that fight would make things worse.

She felt the men at her sides grab her by the wrists, yelping out as they pulled her hands behind her back forcefully, dragging her pack down simultaneously. They took her pack to themselves and she felt cold metal clamp around her wrists, restraining her hands behind her.

Raven approached her, standing behind her back as she started to thrash her hands in panic.

She looked up at Bishop but his resigned expression was still present, he didn’t move an inch, his arms now tellingly behind his back too.

“I am so sorry, my sweet. I promise, nobody will hurt you, but we need to take precautions,” Raven’s honeyed voice echoed behind her as she felt his hand pat her head gently. Why did he keep touching her?!

Suddenly, he grabbed the mass of her ponytail and tugged firmly, making her gasp in surprise at the action.

The second she opened her mouth, something was shoved inside, some kind of fabric. She felt Raven’s hand brush cheek before he pushed against the piece of cloth, lodging it deeper in her mouth, almost to her throat.

She started to gag and choke reflexively, fighting hard not to throw up and suffocate.

Raven was stroking her hair gently, as if trying to calm her down, his behavior making her all the more baffled and angry.

“That’s not fucking necessary! Leave her! We won’t attack,” she heard Bishop pipe up as she willed her breathing to slowly steady, her eyes blurry with the involuntary tears the choking caused.

“Mercer’s orders,” Raven said noncommittally, still stroking her hair gently.

After a while, she felt him pull another cloth over her mouth and fastening it at the back of her head.

“Does that even work? I mean… it seems like it wouldn’t,” a woman who was standing next to Bishop, holding him by one of his elbows snickered maliciously.

Raven seemed to ponder her words for a while, then he stepped in front of Aeyrin, looking into her eyes with a gentle smile. He placed the back of his hand to her cheek, making her scowl and flinch away from him. That man was seriously taking too many liberties. His sweetness just seemed more and more sleazy by the minute.

“My dear, try to Shout for us, would you?”

Did they actually gag her to prevent her from Shouting? Would that really work? That seemed unlikely. Then again, magic didn’t work with bound hands… what did she know?

She probably shouldn’t try anything harmful, despite the temptation, Bishop seemed adamant about not fighting back, and if the Guild really had the whole city in their pocket, it would likely be more trouble than it’s worth. And Raven _did_ promise that no one will harm them… then again, the word of a rogue probably couldn’t amount to much.

_FEIM_

She concentrated on the word.

Nothing.

There was an unpleasant pressure in her throat but it dissipated eventually. Her breathing got ragged in panic and the gag didn’t help the situation at all. Was it really that easy to take her powers away? They were supposed to be shouts as strong as a dragon’s. She was pretty sure a gag wouldn’t stop a dragon from spewing fire or ice. Or would it? Maybe no one has tried before. They would need a pretty big gag.

“There, there, my pretty,” Raven patted her head again as her breathing got more and more labored.

“Enough already! Just get this fucking shit-show over with!” Bishop growled at him impatiently.

With somber nod, the rogues started to lead him towards the crypt.

She noticed Raven incline his head, letting the two rogues surrounding her stay a bit behind as he decided to usher her himself, laying his hands on both her shoulders firmly. She flinched away, but he just waited patiently for a second before getting his hands back on her, her annoyed muffled groan not fazing him at all.

They were led down a small opening inside the crypt and down a set of steps before they reached a hole with a ladder in it.

Bishop sighed with annoyance but didn’t wait for the thieves to tell him just _how_ they were planning to get them down the ladder with their hands bound.

He jumped down the hole, ignoring the ladder, apparently familiar with the route.

The woman guarding him did the same and the rogue next to her climbed down the ladder tentatively.

Raven followed him swiftly, his voice echoing from the hole mere seconds later: “It’s not very deep, darling. Jump down, I’ll catch you.”

Bishop’s angry growl was imminent.

One of the men behind her poked her between the shoulder blades and she approached the hole nervously, jumping down into the darkness.

She ended up in Raven’s arms almost immediately, but instead of letting go, he moved his face closer to hers, giving her an affectionate smile.

“Did Frey order you to keep pawing at her too?” Bishop barked at him as Aeyrin did her best to keep her head as far away from Raven’s as possible.

He let out a small chuckle, laying her gently back on her feet and taking back the position behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed briefly, as if he was taunting Bishop whose deep scowl was illuminated in the dark hallway by a single torch on the wall.

“Maybe I just thought she might need some… gentler treatment,” Raven smirked, running his hand towards the side of her neck. She jolted away immediately, letting out a protesting groan against her gag, but it was clear that Raven was referring to the small barely-visible mark on her neck, still vaguely recognizable from their night in Kynesgrove. She was surprised he noticed that, it already looked barely like a light smudge on her olive skin.

“Just keep your fucking hands to yourself before I break your fingers,” Bishop growled at him in response as he headed through the hallway.

Raven chuckled again, fastening his hands back on her shoulders and ushering her to follow.

They were led into a large cistern.

It was clear that they were in the sewers… the smell alone was telling. The place was densely furnished, beds and tables of food were everywhere, but the torn sheets and dirty plates ruined the hominess of the scene. There was a strange large shining orb hanging in a decorated steel cage from the ceiling, illuminating the room in spite of the cobwebs all over its surface. There were lavish carpets on the stone floors but they looked damp and mildew was clearly visible on the majority of them.

It was like stepping into a luxurious mansion that has lain forgotten and neglected for years. Either it was extremely difficult to preserve cleanliness in a sewer, or someone simply gave up on the place.

They were led towards a large table clearly made from a sturdy and expensive wood. They stood on one of the dirty carpets, while noticing the grand high-back chair behind the table with clean and fluffy padding.

It almost looked like a throne.

They stood there for a while, waiting, Raven still had his hands on Aeyrin’s shoulders while Bishop occasionally shot him a nasty glare.

After a few minutes a man approached, sitting himself behind the desk in the lavish chair, looking over Aeyrin with some measure of curiosity and smirking contemptuously when his eyes turned to Bishop.

His leather armor was different from the other rogues – it was all black, just like his combed back hair and instead of myriad of buckles it was sleeker with a black cape fastened to it with a shiny silver chain. He had several silver earrings in his left ear and a large silver ring with an onyx gem was on his right ring finger, pulled on the gloves of the armor, apparently intended to be seen no matter the outfit.

He inclined his head slightly before speaking with an incredibly arrogant undertone: “Mercer Frey. The Guildmaster, lest you haven’t heard, Dragonborn. It is customary to show a proper respect when standing before the Guildmaster…”

He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair impatiently with a gloating smirk.

“Fuck you,” Bishop grumbled at him.

She turned to look at him… the hatred in his eyes… she never saw anything like it.

“You already forgot Bishop? I didn’t think you needed a reminder, but I’m happy to oblige,” Frey nodded towards one of the rogues still guarding them.

The man pulled out something from behind his back, was it a… metal rod? Suddenly he slammed the rod to the back of Bishop’s knees, making him fall down on them with a loud pained grunt, his hateful glare piercing the Guildmaster promptly. Aeyrin let out a muffled cry, panic setting in again. It seemed Bishop wasn’t kidding when he said the Guild was better not to be messed with.

Mercer turned his head towards Aeyrin with an expectant nod.

She felt Raven’s hands press against her gently, prompting her to get on her knees.

Were they serious? Everything inside her was screaming for her to resist but what was the point? They would have forced her like they did Bishop.

She looked back at Raven with an uncertain expression, his smile still sweet but this time there was a hint of a plea as he put even more pressure against her shoulders.

She slumped down to her knees, resigned to entertain the man’s ego and see where it led.

“Much better,” Mercer sighed contentedly, leaning back in his chair and watching them for a while with a smug expression.

“This is all for your benefit after all. I am merely trying to help you in these trying times. My people have noticed the hardships you encountered at the city gates. Not to mention the unfortunate events of your last visit,” he sighed in mock concern. “The guards have been getting more and more organized. Not only do they plan on patrolling the docks, they even plan on investigating some murders in one of the smaller warehouses.”

Aeyrin’s eyes went wide in realization. This was likely her fault. He must have dragged them there to punish them for disrupting the skooma operation.

“Now… I am glad that they will be investigating the matter. The victims were associates of mine and they deserve justice, don’t you think?”

Bishop was eerily quiet. Normally she would have expected him to bark at Mercer to do away with the pretense and get to the point, but he seemed more wary of the man than she would have expected.

“But if they were to discover that the culprits were people under my protection…. well, I would then have to forgive them, wouldn’t I? After all, when I promise to protect someone, I keep my promise… unless they give me a reason not to, wouldn’t you agree, Bishop?” he gave him a cruel sideway glance.

Bishop wasn’t looking at him anymore, directing his hate-filled glare to the ground, his teeth were gritted in a snarl but he didn’t answer. Aeyrin looked him over with concern, she never saw him like this. He was like a caged animal.

Mercer nodded at the rogue with the rod again and he suddenly smashed it into Bishop’s lower back with force, making him fall over on the carpet with a pained grunt. It looked like he didn’t want to scream out, gritting his teeth furiously to keep the pain in; Aeyrin, however, could not keep herself from inhaling sharply, the air sucking in through her nostrils in shock. The man behind him grabbed him by the hair promptly and forced him back into kneeling position while Frey smirked in satisfaction.

Aeyrin tried to call out under her gag, making sure her eyes communicated a good measure of anger and pleading at the same time. Every time she saw him get hurt like that her heart skipped painfully.

Mercer ignored her unvoiced protests and continued his speech, insistent on keeping up the pretenses, as if it mattered anymore.

“Now, if you were to accept my generosity, there would be no need for either of you to worry about the guards. I’m sure I would be able to convince them that you are of no threat to Riften. That you are upstanding citizens, who would never murder anyone in the docks and who certainly don’t need to pay for entry. What do you say? Wouldn’t it be in your best interests to become my friends?” he gave a lopsided grin, watching them intently.

Bishop huffed in through his gritted teeth before finally piping up, his voice spat like venom: “Why the fuck would you want to protect us?”

Mercer smirked, piercing him with an intense stare: “You mean, why would I want to protect _you_? Again? Didn’t I tell you we were even? It’s not healthy to hold a grudge, Bishop.”

Bishop shot him another glare, the hatred bubbling inside him. “Why now?” he growled, his eyes narrowing at the man in the chair.

“Maybe I am feeling charitable. And one can never have too many friends,” Mercer chuckled in an uncharacteristic merriment.

Aeyrin was in no position to answer but it didn’t seem like anyone would let her anyways. Bishop was more than adamant to get his point across: “No. We don’t want anything from you.”

Frey sighed dejectedly, turning his gaze on Aeyrin, much to her surprise.

“Now I’m sure you’re smarter than him… although that’s not that hard to achieve. So, Dragonborn, what do you say? Protection, friendship? It all sounds lovely, doesn’t it?” he smiled at her maliciously while she hesitated.

It was clear that this was extortion. But he never said what he wanted in return. Could it really have been so bad?

But Bishop seemed so certain... And he knew so much more about this man. She needed to trust his judgement.

She shook her head resolutely, looking Mercer in his dark eyes.

He sighed in disappointment the nodded to one of the rogues again.

“I do despise stubbornness. You’re leaving me no choice.”

The man behind Bishop placed the rod to his neck and grabbed a hold on each end before pulling back, choking him with the stick. Bishop thrashed and gasped violently as his eyes went wide but the man wouldn’t let up.

Aeyrin composed herself from the shock quickly and tried to scream out against her gag to get Frey’s attention.

It took way longer than necessary for him to turn to her with a smug smile: “Yes, girl? Did you reconsider?”

She nodded her head quickly, not caring anymore about the consequences. Whatever would happen, would happen. They would deal with it later.

The man relented, making Bishop fall on his face again, coughing furiously.

It was too dark to be certain, but it seemed like he coughed up a rather large amount of blood.

Frey looked over to Bishop with a satisfied expression again – it was clear that he enjoyed tormenting him for whatever reason.

“Did you reconsider, Bishop? I would rather keep the Dragonborn intact, but there are parts of her that I don’t mind bruising, if it comes to that,” he shrugged noncommittally, eying Bishop as the man behind him again grabbed him by the hair and put him back into position.

Bishop’s hateful glare wavered for a split second but eventually, instead of answering, he just spat at the ground.

Mercer sighed, nodding to the man with the rod but a voice suddenly echoed from behind them.

“Mercer, it seems like you’re just making unnecessary enemies now,” the man stepped through the crowd of rogues, getting behind the desk right next to the Guildmaster.

It was the one from the market – the one that tried to sell her the Falmer blood.

“I already made one new friend, Brynjolf. I just need another one,” Mercer smirked in vicious amusement.

“We all know what you have planned. Just get on with it so we can get back to business,” Brynjolf seemed somewhat angry but still inclined his head to the man respectfully.

Mercer pondered for a little while before sighing deeply and nodding.

“Let us dispose of the niceties then,” he smirked at that. “Friends help each other, don’t they? I will help you with the guard and forgive any unfortunate incident that you had your hands in, in return for some… favors. From each of you. Now, you are cordially invited to stay here. One needs to be hospitable to their friends,” he smirked again, obviously having some twisted ideas about hospitality.

“When the time comes, each of you will perform a favor. If you are… adequate and I am satisfied, you will be sent on your merry way with no guards in your tow. And our friendship will be sealed. That way if any of us need something again… we may rely on each other,” he gave a lopsided grin.

This time he didn’t wait for a response.

He nodded to his men and two of them grabbed Bishop violently under his arms and started to lead him away. The man named Brynjolf followed and Raven gently placed his hands around Aeyrin’s elbows making her stand up and leading her after them.


	34. Meat for Slaughter

It took longer than expected.

They were leading them through strange corridors into abandoned old areas of the sewers.

Bishop didn’t say a word and he seemed to walk ahead of his escort, apparently knowing where they were headed.

Raven still ‘soothingly’ rubbed Aeyrin’s shoulders and arms. She didn’t care anymore, the anxiety overshadowing her disgust at the man.

They arrived at a lower area with strong metal doors all around them. Horrible voices at times echoed across the chamber, mad laughter and delirious whispers.

Aeyrin noticed the holes in the metal doors – one at the top with bars and one at the bottom, likely for food.

This was a prison.

Her breathing got heavier against the gag at the realization, and her anxiety only worsened as Raven started to stroke her hair and whisper in her ear lightly: “Don’t worry, my sweet. It looks bad, but it’s safe. No one will hurt you here.”

A mad laughter startled her again as she saw a face of a Bosmer peering from one of the doors, his eyes all-black just like hers.

“New meat! New meat! One from the homeland!” he leered at her through the bars, licking his lips hungrily.

He was certainly mad. She wondered why he called her ‘meat’ but she had a feeling she already knew. Maybe the Nords called him a cannibal one too many times and he decided to go with it. Divines knew how often some of them asked her if she really ate people. 

They were ushered into one of the doors to an open cell.

Luckily, they let them share one. She was wary of going crazy in such a place alone and she also needed to see whether Bishop was alright.

He was so quiet the whole time, it was frightening.

The rogues left the cell one by one, Raven planting a kiss into Aeyrin’s hair, whispering again for her not to worry before leaving.

Brynjolf was the only one left and he nodded to the others to leave while he closed the door behind them.

He somberly looked them over before he decided to speak: “Just… do what he says. I’ll make sure you’re released unharmed right after.”

He paused, then turned to Bishop. “I tried to make him leave you out of it, lad. Enough was enough. But once he heard you were traveling with her…” he inclined his head towards Aeyrin before lowering his head again. “Don’t give him a reason, Bishop. He hates your guts for what you did. If you try something again… well… he’s still in business with _him_.” Brynjolf looked towards Aeyrin again, worry etched on his face.

She noticed Bishop’s eyes go wide for a second, then he narrowed them again angrily. “Why the fuck do you still listen to him, Brynjolf?!” his voice was so hoarse – likely from the rough treatment of the metal rod. “I know you hate him! Why do you still just lay down and take it?!”

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes at him with a defeated shake of his head: “Did you already forget what he did to you? And what did I just tell you about starting shit, lad?”

Bishop only huffed angrily in response.

“It will only be a few days,” Brynjolf nodded while turning on his heel to leave them in their cell.

“Ungag her!” Bishop called out to him before he disappeared behind the door.

“I can’t,” the man shook his head regretfully.

“What?! How the fuck is she supposed to eat or drink?!” he screamed at him furiously.

“I don’t know. Raven’s in charge of her. He’s probably got something figured. You don’t get a meal today anyways, so better make yourselves comfortable for the night,” his tone seemed much colder as he left the cell, closing the door behind him.

A few metallic sounds of keys and bolts were heard through their cells, then only the insane wails of the other occupants.

They still had their arms bound and they stood silently next to each other in the cell for a while.

It was better when something was happening, now she had time to think about everything.

He said he needs to be ‘satisfied’ with the favors. What happens if he’s not? Would he kill them? And what favors could he possibly need from them? He practically owned the city.

The gag was making it really hard to breathe.

She turned to Bishop quickly to occupy herself with something as her chest started to heave with heavy breaths. She nudged her head to his arm and inclined her head to his neck. It was red and swollen and there would definitely be deep black bruises all over his throat.

He gave her a once-over when he noticed her ragged breathing.

Catching the direction of her gaze, he shrugged his shoulders gingerly: “I’m fine, princess. I’ve been through worse.”

He walked towards one of the walls and slid down to lean his back against it while sitting himself on the ground. The cell was damp and small and it looked like nobody cleaned the cobwebs in a long time.

“Come here,” he motioned next to him, his expression softened at least a little.

She followed and sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder and trying to calm her breaths tentatively. He planted a kiss in her hair before laying his head on top of hers with a sigh.

“Sorry I took us to the graveyard. I thought that little shit just wanted to talk or make a threat or something. This is…” he sighed again in frustration, “Frey must be fucking desperate to go this far.”

Aeyrin mumbled something against her gag, throwing him a questioning look.

“I don’t know what he wants,” Bishop shook his head, predicting the direction of her thoughts. “Brynjolf made it sound like he wants something specific from you... and he decided to piss me off further. Your reception here would probably be kinder without me,” he smirked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

She nuzzled her head into his neck affectionately, hoping to reassure him that none of this was his fault. It seemed like Mercer didn’t really need a lot of reasons to hate someone. And it wasn’t like she would have been eager to go with them even without him.

“And fucking Raven…” Bishop scoffed angrily, “If that two-faced piece of shit touches you again…”

She nuzzled her head to him further, her nose now buried into the crux of his neck in an attempt to calm his anger.

It was strangely working for her anxiety too, having someone to take care of, in a way.

He chuckled a little at her antics.

She was like Karnwyr, trying to comfort him even though she couldn’t speak.

Shit, Karnwyr!

Hopefully he would return to the woods. Staying at the docks might mean that someone from the Guild could find him and depending on who it was, he might be used as a bargaining chip.

He planted another kiss into her hair as an appreciation of her efforts and rested his head against hers again.

He wondered why Mercer would need her specifically. He suspected that he may have some ideas about using her to further his political power or some such but this extortion seemed excessive. If he needed her as an ally, why would he alienate her like that? Was it really just to piss him off?

No.

It had to be something urgent. Something for which he didn’t have time to play nice with her.

He felt her eyes on him as they shifted positions slightly a worried frown and a hanging question in her black eyes.

He knew what she wanted to hear.

She wanted him to tell what happened between him and Frey.

He couldn’t.

Especially now, when she got a glimpse of the people he associated with. He saw the fear in her eyes during the whole exchange, but the truth was, this was nothing yet. And if he told, he would have to tell her about everything.

About Jules.

About Thorn.

She claimed she didn’t judge him for his past, but he still worried that she would, despite her lofty ideals. The shit he did after Mercer sold him out... and it was all in vain in the end.

He wasn’t going to risk losing her again. Not when he just got her back.

“It’s… a lot, sweetness. I know we have time, but… I’d rather not get into _that_ ,” he sighed and looked at her a bit apologetically.

She nodded in understanding and averted her eyes for a while, looking over the four walls surrounding them.

There was nothing else.

Just the walls and the deranged wails of the other inmates.

He did spend a few days here before. At least this time he still had _her_ by his side.

“Bring the meat!!! I saw it! Two new pieces!! Hahaha!” the maniacal scream tore him away from his memories.

Why the fuck would Mercer preserve this lunatic? He only left people here when he thought they could be of use.

He noticed Aeyrin press her head into his chest as if hiding from the screams.

He wanted to put his arms around her, but couldn’t.

He moved himself to lie down, his hands uncomfortably pressing into his back, but it didn’t matter anymore. She curled around him, her head on his collarbone, giving him just enough access to nip at the tip of her ear gently as she gasped into her gag in surprise.

The place was hardly garnering any desirable thoughts, but perhaps the distraction would help them get through the night.

He turned to his side to get more access and started to brush his lips against her ear, jaw, neck and collarbone, waiting a bit in case she protested.

He could hardly blame her, with the situation they were in.

But she did not.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh out of her nostrils, likely imagining she was anywhere else.

He returned his attention to her ear.

He hasn’t been with many elven girls before – they were kind of sparse in Skyrim. He noticed early on how sensitive her ears were. He remembered brushing against it back at the hunter’s rest and eliciting a soft whimper from her, even though she was asleep.

That seemed like forever ago.

Now whenever he started to play with her ears, she flushed beet-red and started to let out soft moans unconsciously. He never thought a girl could get so worked up over that particular body part, but it was exciting to watch her writhe from the smallest touch.

He captured her earlobe between his teeth lightly and nibbled on it for some time, noticing the air escape her nose above the gag more hurriedly.

Grinning at his success to distract her, he located the mark that was still barely visible on her neck, licking around it gently. Then he bit down slowly, suckling at the skin to renew his handiwork as she spasmed a bit under his ministrations, low hum muffled by the cloth.

Having her so helpless under him had his thoughts swirling.

If only he wasn’t similarly helpless himself.

He did make a mental note to convince her one day to let him tie her up. And maybe blindfold her – the anticipation on her face as she kept her eyes firmly shut was incredibly thrilling.

He nudged her to lie on her back, her figure arched by her hands under her– her breasts were displayed to him so temptingly in this position.

He rushed his mouth to nip at the top of her left breast, moving down to bury his head in between them, kissing and licking her skin there as she heaved heavily.

He bit down on the hem of her cleavage, attempting to uncover more of her, but her shirt was too tightly enveloping her, especially in the outstretched position she was in.

He chuckled in frustration after a few attempts and decided to continue his efforts through the fabric.

Noticing her nipples protruding against her shirt, he fastened his mouth around one, biting lightly, swirling his tongue over the cloth.

After hearing the strained moan through her gag, he continued for some time, repeating the process on her other one after a while, making her writhe under him, struggling with breathing against the gag.

The sounds of the metal keys and bolts startled her and made her eyes open in surprise.

Bishop raised his head from her cleavage, a deep scowl on his face as he sat himself up in anticipation.

She looked down on herself, noting in horror that their activities were somewhat discernable on her. There were two wet circles around her hardened nipples, making the thin fabric ridiculously see-through. Her face was surely flushed bright red and her breathing was tellingly ragged.

She quickly curled up into a ball, her back to the door before their visitor managed to open.

She didn’t know who it was but she certainly didn’t want anyone to know what they were doing in their cell. Who would do something like that in a prison? Well… supposedly… people would do that in prison. But they were there for only an hour or so.

Not to mention, if the person noticed, they might tell Mercer, and who knows whether he wouldn’t want to force them into separate cells just to annoy Bishop.

She heard the door creak, but no footsteps. She _did_ feel someone’s presence behind her back though.

“She’s sleeping. What do you want?” Bishop’s voice carried through the cell in a whisper.

She heard a clank of metal against the stone.

“That’s so you don’t piss in the corner. Mercer said you’re not housebroken,” the light malicious chuckle in the otherwise sweet voice told her that it was Raven again.

“My hands are tied. Are you gonna fish out my dick for me too?” Bishop scoffed at him hatefully.

Raven made a disgusted sound: “I don’t care if you piss yourself. I’m just…”

“Following orders, yeah,” Bishop growled, “Look, little lapdog, if he wants something from us, he might actually need to keep us alive. We need water and food. And our hands. And she can’t even fucking breathe with that thing in her mouth!”

There was a very long moment of silence before Raven spoke again: “Yeah… listen, I can’t. I’m… sorry… not for you. Fuck _you_. But she doesn’t deserve this. But Mercer’s… well he can’t leave anything to chance now. And we don’t know what she can do.”

He sighed before continuing, his honeyed voice quivering a little: “I didn’t even bring this to… he just likes taunting you, after what you did. And my back’s to the fucking wall too.”

Bishop didn’t answer, strangely enough. This was the point where he would likely call Raven spineless or a coward or something like that, but he stayed silent.

She glanced over to his expression with half-lidded eyes – it seemed almost sympathetic as he looked at Raven.

“It’s just one night. You can do one night,” Raven’s tone seemed regretful, a strange side to the smooth-talking rogue.

There was another moment of silence before Raven’s words echoed through the cell again, the sound of the doors opening signaling his impending departure.

“Mercer wanted your wolf found… Vex caught him at the docks.”

She could almost feel Bishop’s heart clench at that.

“She… chased him away to the woods. I hope that mutt knows not to come back… I wish I could say the same about you.”

The sound of the bolts and keys muffled out Bishop’s heavy sigh of relief.

“Meat for slaughter! Hahahaha! The black man will come for you too, young bird!! You sing too much!” the scream of the madman echoed through the halls as Raven left them.

She sat up and Bishop gave her an exasperated sigh: “We should probably get some sleep, ladyship. Who knows what they’ll put us through tomorrow?”

He lay on his side as she curled herself into a ball, pressing against his chest.

The gag made breathing so difficult, but it wasn’t enough to suffocate her, luckily.

She just hoped they will get at least some rest through the wails and rambling of their prison mates.


	35. The Belle of the Ball

The familiar sounds of bolts and keys woke them up.

They both sat up tentatively, waiting for their jailors to appear, eager to move the whole ordeal along.

In came Raven with Brynjolf at his heels.

Brynjolf carried a crossbow made from dark wood. He sat himself against the wall by the door and set the weapon on his knees, aiming right at Bishop.

Raven fished in his pack, producing some bread and unidentifiable charred meat along with a waterskin and a bowl, as if for a dog, setting the things onto the ground unceremoniously.

He motioned for Bishop to stand up, promptly unlocking his cuffs when he did so.

Bishop kneaded his sore wrists and stretched his arms in relief while Raven nodded at Aeyrin to stand up too.

She waited for him to unlock her cuffs but instead he grabbed her elbow and ushered her towards him. “It’s time for you to make good on the favor, my pretty,” he smiled at her gently.

“Brynjolf will be keeping Bishop company. As long as you don’t do anything stupid, that crossbow will not need to be used,” he smiled sweetly again, as if he wasn’t just threatening them a second ago.

Was he serious?!

Were they actually going to have Bishop _killed_ if she didn’t do what Mercer said? She thought they needed him! And what if she _couldn’t_ do what Mercer asked? What if despite her best efforts she would fail? Her neck started burning, her breaths getting heavy again.

Raven’s brows creased suddenly, his smile gone in an instant as he looked her over. He leaned in slightly, his voice quieter, and surprisingly… comforting: “It’s not dangerous. You only need to follow his orders. Nothing can go wrong if you do that.” He patted her head softly, the gentle smile back on his face again.

Well… that was… something. She had no idea what Mercer could ask of her, but she knew that she would do everything in her power to do what he said, no matter how much she would want to resist. The man was unstable enough and she could never risk someone else’s life because of pride, especially Bishop’s.

“If you or Frey hurt her, you’ll be wishing you used it when you had the chance,” Bishop barked at him angrily, eliciting only a dismissive scoff from Raven.

The rogue led her outside their cell, locking the door firmly behind them.

“You’re taking it! Don’t take my tender meat away! I want a taste!” the madman screamed as Raven led her away from the cells, ignoring his ravings pointedly.

Raven led her back to the cistern where he headed into one of the side passages, ushering her into a small room.

There was a wooden tub filled with steaming water in there, a lavatory and a table with a tray of food and a tankard of mead.

A large padded chair was in the corner of the room with a folded cloth on it – it was light yellow in color with some hints at golden embroidery and decorations. On the ground by the chair, a pair of high-heeled shoes was set out in a similar golden color as the embroidery with lots of straps and little buckles. A small jewelry box and a make-up kit were laid out on a small cupboard along a golden hand mirror and a brush.

Aeyrin raised her eyebrow at Raven.

This seemed… different from what she expected. Just what did Mercer want with her?

“Now, my beautiful Dragonborn, remember that Bishop’s life is on the line here. Do not give Mercer any reason to get angry,” his sweet smile seemed a bit worried.

More and more it appeared that he did not enjoy fulfilling Frey’s orders.

He slowly moved behind her, unlocking her wrists. He ran his hands over her arms in a soothing motion, then placed another kiss on the top of her head as she felt him fiddle with the fastening of her gag. She barely even registered his handsiness, her mind too preoccupied with what was happening.

The cloth came down and he moved himself in front of her.

“Open wider, take a breath,” the tone he said that in was unsettling but she obeyed.

As he tugged the fabric in her mouth, she felt it tickle her throat and change positions, gagging immediately at the feeling.

He removed the cloth swiftly and stroked her back soothingly as she heaved and tried to steady her breathing.

When she managed to calm down, Raven gave her a satisfied nod.

“Good. Eat, drink and bathe, my sweet. Make sure to look presentable… not that you’re not gorgeous enough as is…” he chuckled, ruffling her messy hair as she flinched away from him instinctively. “The clothes and accessories on the chair are for you. When you are all ready, ring this bell,” he pointed to a small silver handbell on the table.

“What does he want with me?” Aeyrin asked, unable to hide the panic in her voice. This was beyond strange.

“Don’t worry, my dear, nothing indecent. You’ll just be going to a little… party. With Mercer,” he smiled encouragingly again reaching for her hair to stroke it before she moved out of the way. His excessive attentions suddenly annoying her again, but she was unsure what would happen if she upset him.

Was he important to Mercer? Would that risk Bishop’s life?

“Now, do you need help with… anything?” he grinned, inclining his head towards the bath.

“No! I’ll… manage,” she flushed both in anger and embarrassment.

Raven only nodded and headed outside the room, closing the door behind him.

She heard the key locking her in right after and, with a sigh, she turned to the bath.

She was still worried about what he would want from her, but getting clean sounded heavenly right then.

…

Bishop and Brynjolf stared at each other for a long while in silence.

After some time, he found himself unable to keep himself quiet anymore.

He needed to know what was going on.

At least it was Brynjolf guarding him – he was one of the more reasonable Guild members.

“What does he want with her?” he tried to keep the angry tone from his voice. He knew that Brynjolf would be more receptive that way.

The man scoffed derisively at the question. “What does he always want, lad? To puff out his chest and play his political games,” it was so apparent in his voice that he despised the man.

Why the fuck was he still doing his bidding?

“What does _that_ have to do with her?” Bishop continued, still trying to keep a calm demeanor.

“He’ll parade her around on a leash and show everyone that he has the Dragonborn under his thumb, what else?”

Bishop nodded, not certain what exactly that meant but he never really saw through Mercer’s stupid ploys anyways. Dick measuring contests in the underworld were all the same.

There was something that was increasingly gnawing at him.

He needed the answer.

He needed to know just how much shit they were in if anything went south.

“You said he still deals with _him_.”

Brynjolf nodded somberly: “What did you expect, lad? Business with Thorn is… profitable.”

“And you’re all fine with it?” Bishop scoffed, earning a glare from Brynjolf.

There was another long moment of silence before Brynjolf spoke again, his tone suddenly much gentler and… regretful: “Mercer still thinks he’s gotta pay you back, lad, but he can’t justify it to us. That much at least plays in your cards. You don’t make trouble and he’ll have no choice but to let you go.”

Bishop studied him with suspicion: “What? No one else here thinks I gotta pay for betraying your precious Mercer?” He scoffed. Like any of them cared how much Mercer tormented him.

“We heard what happened to your brother… that’s just… not right,” Bishop barely heard him as he said those words quietly.

A pit in his stomach threatened to get him choked up and he was unable to answer.

“He was a good lad… always so cheerful, despite all that shit that went down… he was missed here, lad.”

His sadness was getting overshadowed by anger.

He knew most of the Guild members liked Jules. He really found his place there.

Then why the fuck would they allow that to happen? Why the fuck didn’t they do anything?! Why did they let Mercer ruin him?!

Brynjolf must have seen it in his face. He shook his head with resignation. “You stirred the pot, lad,” he sighed.

“Then why the fuck was _he_ sent away?! He had nothing to do with any of it!” Bishop’s anger bubbled up, his hands shaking. He wanted to choke someone. He wanted to beat Frey into a pulp and spit on his bloodied corpse.

Brynjolf nodded sympathetically and leaned in, as if telling him a secret: “You don’t gamble when you have something to lose, lad. Remember that, lest the girl meets the same end. Or worse, knowing Thorn.”

…

She looked herself over.

She never wore a dress like that.

Come to think of it… she actually never wore a dress… ever.

Unless one counts beggar rags or temple robes.

The yellow dress with golden hems and decorations on the skirt was very tight. It was fastened behind her neck, the fabric hugging her collarbones and breasts closely. It had a deep cleavage on the back, stopping at her waist, her shoulder blades only covered with delicate straps. It was tight around her hips too, but luckily not around her thighs, the fabric falling loosely all the way to the ground.

It didn’t bar her movement as much as she feared but she’s never felt this vulnerable.

She wanted to strap her armor on it.

She let her hair loose, falling over her back and shoulders – at least that would cover something.

Her ears were decorated with delicate gold circular earrings clapped firmly and somewhat painfully to her earlobes. There was a myriad of similarly circular bracelets jingling on her arms.

The shoes were the worst though.

She’s never worn high heels. They weren’t as high as she’d seen on some women but it was still difficult to move in them. Her feet burned on several spots and she wobbled hopelessly every other step she took.

And where was she even gonna go like this?

She will freeze the minute she steps outside.

Will she even be going outside?

Oh Gods! Hopefully this is not some strange fantasy of Mercer’s he’ll be expecting her to fulfill.

Raven said it wasn’t anything indecent and it’s not like he couldn’t find anyone better suited to… those tasks.

She took a deep breath and rang the little handbell resolutely. She was eager to get this over with… whatever it was.

A minute later Mercer entered the room along with Raven.

Raven gasped at the sight of her, covering his mouth with both hands exaggeratedly, making her flush in embarrassment.

Mercer merely nodded – it appeared that he assessed her looks ‘adequate’.

“What is this for?” she snapped, still flushed, her feet wobbling slightly.

Frey gave her a level look but answered calmly: “There is an… event. I have made some promises that you will be appearing. You will appear as my ally. You will be obedient and let anyone know that you take my counsel often and that you trust me unconditionally. If anyone asks you to perform any… acts... relating to your Dragonborn powers, you will comply with regards to the safety of all the present guests. If anyone attempts to discuss any political issues with you, you will excuse yourself and make it clear that you rely fully on my knowledge and counsel in those affairs. You will under no circumstances let any distaste or personal feelings on your current predicament slip out. Am I understood?”

Mercer folded his arms across him chest expectantly as she stared at him in stunned silence.

He wanted to present her like prized cattle to Divines know who! And why would he need to make it look like she was his ally? She had absolutely no social power on her own. The current situation made that abundantly clear.

“Am I understood?! Or do I need to contact Brynjolf?!” he repeated, his voice rose in anger.

“Y-yes,” she stumbled on her words, wobbling a little on her feet.

“Good. I will be back when it’s time to depart. Raven, make sure she isn’t walking like a lame duck by then,” he scoffed as he left the room hurriedly, leaving the smiling rogue behind.

Raven extended his elbow to her with an encouraging nod: “There’s not much room to walk around, but it will have to do. Just hold on to me and keep a straight line.”

She hesitated before locking her arm in his elbow.

“Raven, why is he doing this? No one even knows who I am.”

Raven gave her another sweet smile, his easygoing expression perpetually on his face. “You give yourself too little credit, my dear. Anyone who hasn’t heard about the Dragonborn would have to be living under a rock.”

“But what does he get from it? I don’t understand…” she shook her head in desperation. Mercer’s demands really didn’t tell her what to expect exactly. And what kind of ‘event’ was this? One where she would be asked to… perform her powers? She couldn’t do that! She didn’t have enough control over most of them! What if she hurt someone? That would mean Bishop would get killed…

Raven smiled at her again, but then he noticed her expression.

She must have looked really panicked as his façade seemed to miraculously falter, his face now much more somber.

“Look my pretty, things aren’t good right now for the Guild. And some of our associates… they doubt Mercer’s influence. You remember meeting two of our people after that little raid of yours? Vex and Rune. When they told Mercer that they found the Dragonborn… well… he got kind of cocky. He thought he could bribe you, or trick you, or whatever you have… and that you’d be eating from the palm of his hand. Bishop was a last resort as a bargaining chip and we didn’t even know how… permanent your association with him was,” he cringed slightly.

“Well… like I said. Mercer had a lot of cards to play on you and he got cocky. He made it clear to his associates that he was now controlling the one weapon against everyone’s favorite new enemy. And then… you disappeared. And because the rumors about you are… varied, none of us knew where you were.”

He gave her a strange scowl before continuing: “And now you’re back. With Bishop. And since Mercer’s out of time, he pulled his last trump card first.”

That was… not what she expected.

And Raven was suddenly so open with her.

Why?

He did seem kind of morose the whole time he was saying it.

An echo from last night rang in her ears unexpectedly, sending a chill down her spine.

_The black man will come for you too, young bird. You sing too much._

…

Mercer mercifully lent her a thick fur cloak for the journey.

It smelled really bad, but it was warm.

Her balance in the shoes was hardly perfect but it was better after walking in circles around the small room with Raven for at least an hour.

Mercer was wearing a sleek black brocade doublet and tailored trousers with tall buckled boots over them.

He would have looked handsome if she wasn’t so repulsed by the man himself.

He took her to the southern city gate where a carriage was waiting for them, taking them a short way to the east.

They stopped at an enormous mansion built in traditional Skyrim style with stone base and wooden walls decorated with beautiful carvings.

Frey led her around the building, towards the back yard.

She noted the large number of guards around and she heard strange rumbling sounds from the direction that they were heading.

As their destination made itself visible, her mouth went ajar in shock.

There was an enormous cage by the mountainside – enormous as in, almost as big as half of the manor.

And in it – a dragon.

Large chains were fastened to its hind legs, its wings obviously painfully stuffed at its sides, the restrictions of its prison making any movement impossible. Its maw had a metal contraption around it sealing it shut firmly.

“In case you were wondering, that’s how I knew the muzzle would work on you too,” a malicious smirk was carried by Mercer’s voice but she couldn’t concentrate on him.

There were at least two dozens of people around, all in lavish clothing much like theirs, conversing and feasting on the food spread around on the tables set out on the yard, as if there wasn’t a dragon right next to them.

The beast was somewhat smaller than some that she’s seen before – definitely smaller than the black one, but it was still big.

“H-how did they…” her voice trembled, her thoughts swirling uncomfortably with so many questions.

“Capture it? Easy, dear. They killed it,” Mercer scoffed.

“The beast attacked this place and its guards managed to kill it. A very happy ending. A day or so later, they were all drunk and riding the corpse like a mare. And then it bit one’s head off,” Mercer chuckled horrifyingly.

“So… then the drunken snowberries killed it again. And now they were pissing themselves about when it would wake up. So… they made it a little home.”

The dragon suddenly made eye contact with her, immediately thrashing around in its cage violently.

It recognized her… just like the other ones.

“Friend of yours?” Mercer snorted in amusement.

The guests looked at the dragon with interest for a while before noticing her alongside Frey. All eyed her curiously now, whispering amongst themselves.

“Time to rub some elbows, dear. Hope you remember our deal well.”

The guests were all clamoring to talk to her while the dragon still panicked in its prison.

The beasts were vile killers, but she could not help but sympathize with the captive creature.

Nothing deserved such treatment.

A woman called Maven welcomed her first, revealing herself to be one of the Black-Briars and the owner of the lodge they were at.

“I heard Mercer mention you a couple of times, Dragonborn. He seemed to insinuate you are thick as thieves these days… so to speak. Has he told you of our mutual friendship?” she raised her eyebrow at Aeyrin, her face arrogant and betraying no intent behind her words.

Aeyrin wracked her brain for a second.

Mercer wanted her to appear as his ally, but he likely wouldn’t want them to think she was privy to any of the Guild secrets.

“It… is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, lady Black-Briar. I’m… I’m afraid I’m not very familiar with Skyrim’s social circles… but any friend of Mercer’s is a friend of mine,” she stumbled on her words somewhat awkwardly, but hopefully that would only make her appear more the unknowing tool of Frey’s machinations.

…

She spent some more time answering questions in this manner.

Whenever Mercer was in the earshot, he gave her a curt nod, signaling that she was doing… well, adequately at least.

They asked her to perform a Shout several times, much to her annoyance. But she needed to do it, no matter how much she hated being their ‘pet Dragonborn’.

Bishop’s life was more important.

She performed her fast sprint and her ethereal form, hoping that would satisfy.

Some of them murmured that that didn’t seem too powerful, but she hurriedly assured them that it was merely for their own safety.

Mercer told her to eat and drink at the event, as she was apparently getting nothing back in the sewers.

When she finally found a moment of peace, she made her way to one of the tables and started to eat, careful not to stuff her face too barbarically.

She was starving, but she needed to look dignified.

She heard an amused chuckle behind her suddenly.

“So, we meet again,” the haughty voice… where did she hear it before?

She turned around, chewing her food hurriedly as she came face to… chest with gaudy decorated purple robes.

She raised her head only to see the conceited smirk of the familiar Altmer.

The skooma dealer!

She knew that Mercer’s ‘associates’ likely weren’t all ‘upstanding citizens’ as he loved to claim, but this?

“You?!” Aeyrin flushed with anger, but managed to pull herself together.

If not only for the deal with Frey, she _did_ promise herself more care with her skooma obsession.

“Imagine my excitement, when I heard the mighty Dragonborn would appear! So… where are your fuckboy and your mongrel? And can I guess which one is which?” he laughed insolently as Aeyrin gaped at him.

She still couldn’t get used to his strange switches between talking like a stereotypical arrogant Altmer and a drunken sailor.

“I see that the two of you have already… met,” Mercer approached them, a mean grin decorating his face.

“Dragonborn, this is Tilmuril. A long term associate of mine. A man under my _protection_ ,” he accentuated the last point, sending a clear message. “And as of course, you my dear Til, know, the Dragonborn is under my protection as well.”

Frey expression turned into a rather threatening one as he looked each of them over again before turning on his heel again and heading back to mingle leaving them in an awkward silence.

“So I noticed someone ‘smoked’ all my supplies…” Tilmuril pointed out sourly after a minute of uncomfortable quiet.

“Ugh,” Aeyrin grunted in disgust… that man was the definition of a despicable person and he was making stupid jokes with an accusing face.

She turned away quickly, more eager to get back to the claws of the crowd than to spend another second in the presence of that excuse for an elf.

…

“There you are, dear. Ready for the main event?” Mercer approached her just when she finally found another minute alone to get some food.

“Main event?” she turned to him in confusion.

Mercer inclined his head towards the struggling caged beast. “You didn’t think they want to just leave it here, did you? Besides, my associates are eager to see if you’re the real deal. Anyone can Shout after all,” he crossed his arms across his chest expectantly.

This again.

Why was everyone obsessed with seeing her consume souls?

And more importantly… she didn’t want to do this in front of them.

All those people, watching her for entertainment as she struggled to survive… that was depraved.

Mercer noticed her hesitation instantly, frowning deeply and grabbing her wrist suddenly in anger: “You are the real deal, right?! Because that would be fucking bleak for you, girl, I promise you.”

She winced, quickly pulling her hand from his grip. “I am… I just… It’s… painful and… dangerous…” she stammered, not exactly sure how to explain.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s painful! I told you that you are to perform for these people and you will fucking perform! Unless you want to return to your cell to a corpse!”

She winced again and nodded slowly, painfully reminded that Bishop wasn’t there.

He always helped her when she went through this.

Now she was all alone here.

All those people just seeing her as a tool… none of them even knew her name.

She took a deep breath as Frey led her towards the cage.

She didn’t even know what kind of dragon it was. She couldn’t prepare herself for either the cold or the heat. And maybe there were other kinds. How would _she_ know?!

The black dragon made some purple orb...

What even was that?!!!

She felt the burning at the back of her neck.

No.

This was the last thing.

He couldn’t ask her for anything worse after that, right? She just needed to get through it and then she could return to her cell.

Divines, she was looking forwards to a prison cell!

“Dear friends,” Mercer started to announce to the crowd as he stood in front of the cage with her at his side.

The guests turned to him with eager smiles, likely knowing what was to come.

“We have gathered here today in celebration. A glorious celebration of caging a beast – Skyrim’s new enemy. One that would threaten both our lives and livelihoods. What better way to end our celebrations, then by felling this creature and ridding the world of it once and for all.”

The crowd clapped excitedly for a while.

“They say that these things are immortal. Some of you have seen this beast resurrect itself with their very eyes. But tonight that ends. The life of this creature will be snuffed out effortlessly, by my dear friend.”

Effortlessly… right.

“Men! Begin!” several guards suddenly surrounded the cage, stabbing the beast with long spears and halberds as it struggled to roar and thrashed around.

It was a haunting sight… the mighty and powerful creature, trapped and helpless.

Just like her.

It seemed to take forever; every stab furthered the beast’s agony and signaled the imminent pain.

Then finally it stopped moving.

Everything was eerily quiet as the corpse, until now only illuminated by moonlight and the outside torches, started to shine with the warm white light, soon enough engulfed by flames.

The second she saw the flames, she shut her eyes tight. Now she knew what to expect and needed to brace herself.

It was only a short while then before she felt herself scream as the pain ravaged her body again. She desperately wanted to hide in Bishop’s arms. She felt the fire below her nailbeds on both her hands and feet. Every inch of her skin felt like it had a thick layer of charred crust on it. It felt like her tears and sweat were crawling through the cracks in the singed layer of her skin, travelling slowly through excruciatingly painfully boiled skin and meat.

She missed the cold stone floor of her cell.

She needed to survive to see Bishop again.


	36. Four Walls

The rest of the night went on in a blur.

She remembered some people talking to her about the dragon but she didn’t hear a word.

Her feet were wobbly from pain and she wasn’t sure if her exhaustion was to blame or those damned shoes were.

Frey mercifully stayed by her side for the rest of the celebration, supporting her whenever she staggered. Normally she wouldn’t want that scoundrel anywhere near her, but she was glad that she didn’t have to crumple to the ground every time her weariness got the better of her.

Mercer even took her away from the guests for a short while to eat and drink to fill up her strength. She felt a bit better after, but was still praying for the night to be over.

Finally she was allowed to slump on the wooden bench of the carriage.

It was a short ride, but at least a half hour of shut eye would help.

…

Mercer led her back to the room with the bath and the lavatory.

“You have half an hour. I’ll send Raven after,” he said sternly, but turned back to her before leaving the room. “You were… adequate. I consider your part of the deal honored,” he nodded and left, locking the room behind him.

There was no more water in the tub but at least she could use the lavatory… the idea of using a bucket in a cell was… not tempting.

Her original clothes were nowhere around. She sighed. She would have to suffer the dress and the shoes a bit longer then.

Perhaps Raven will bring her things.

After she was done, she spotted the golden mirror still at the cupboard.

She looked herself over. She had black smudges all around her eyes – her tears in the grip of pain must have ruined the eye make-up she applied before. Her hair was messy and tangled but she didn’t find the brush anywhere in the room. She at least tried to fix her eyes by putting some saliva on her finger and rubbing the worst smudges away.

It didn’t help much.

Her hair refused to untangle by her fingers alone too. She slumped to the chair, closing her eyes tiredly.

…

“Wake up, my sweet.”

Raven’s honeyed voice roused her from her short respite, his hand stroking her cheek before she flinched away.

“Back to the cell, I’m afraid. I’m sure Brynjolf’s eager to get away from Bishop already,” he chuckled, not even a little fazed that his advances were constantly unwanted.

She got up from the chair a bit unsteadily, noting the distinctive lack of her clothing in Raven’s hands; but he _did_ carry something.

“Turn around, dear,” he smiled sweetly as he raised his hands to show her the iron shackles and pieces of cloth.

Her eyes went wide again at the sight.

Didn’t she just do everything that Mercer asked? Why would this still be necessary? She proved that she would cooperate.

“R-Raven… No… Please…” she looked at him in desperation, tears forming in her eyes again. She was so tired… she needed to sleep… she couldn’t stand another night of struggling to even breathe.

And she wanted to kiss Bishop.

She missed being in his arms so much during her ordeal.

Raven watched her for a long while, a crease forming between his brows. He leaned in after some time, whispering in her ear, his voice strangely frightful: “Just… just until we get there… I promise.”

Aeyrin nodded slowly, unsure whether to trust him. But after everything… she felt like he didn’t exactly want to follow Mercer’s orders.

She turned around as he clasped the irons around her wrists. Then he turned her back, nodding at her as she opened her mouth obediently. He didn’t really push the cloth in this time, mercifully sparing her the gagging and choking.

He led her out of the room after he fastened the cloth around her head again, heading towards the familiar prison.

…

“Hahaha!! All shiny, gold and glitter! Can’t see a thing!! Hahaha!! They can’t see the tender meat underneath!!” the familiar madman didn’t spare her arrival his ramblings.

She remembered what he said about Raven.

Now she was convinced he was actually a genius.

Or maybe _she_ was going crazy… that was a viable option too.

Raven unlocked the door to the cell and hurried her in.

She saw Bishop’s eyes go wide at the sight of her… she must have looked really ragged.

She turned to Raven again pleadingly. He promised to take those things off her.

“Brynjolf, you can go ahead,” Raven smiled casually.

Brynjolf finally lowered the crossbow he was still holding… did he not move the entire time? Or maybe it was just for show now, like the shackles and the gag.

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes at Raven suspiciously. “What are you doing, Raven?” he asked calmly as he crossed his arms across his chest after fastening the crossbow to his back.

Raven was obviously struggling to come up with an answer before sighing in resignation.

He walked to her back and started to undo the gag tentatively, his eyes avoiding Brynjolf’s.

“He doesn’t need to know.”

Brynjolf stared at him a bit shocked as he unlocked her cuffs and moved in front of her to remove the remaining cloth. Then he took the two sets of shackles along with a keyring and the gag and laid them in one of the corners of the cell.

“If he decides to come himself, I’ll send someone ahead to restrain you,” he sighed again, nodding with a small and for the first time genuine smile at Aeyrin’s grateful expression.

As if on cue, they all turned their eyes to Brynjolf’s still conflicted face.

He went silent for quite a while, before shaking his head in disapproval, but he made no comments to reprimand them or to order Raven to restrain them.

Instead, he turned to Bishop with a somber expression: “Remember what I told you, lad.”

Bishop’s face cringed slightly as he nodded at the man. Then finally he and Raven made their way out of the cell, locking them inside.

She threw herself around his injured neck immediately, hugging him tightly as he winced but immediately wrapped his arms around her back.

She wanted to help heal his wounds but knew that it would only give them away – Mercer couldn’t find out that they were unshackled.

She quickly turned her head up, standing on her tiptoes, capturing his lips in hers, kissing him passionately.

She needed to do that for so long.

It was so comforting to lose herself with him. It was the only time when being overwhelmed felt so good. She pushed her tongue into his mouth desperately as she felt a satisfied rumble through his throat.

After another one of their dizzying exchanges, he pulled himself back from her slightly, running his hand over the smudges on her cheeks and tangling it in her messy hair. “What happened?”

She took a tentative breath, not even knowing where to start before he interrupted her.

“And damn, you look fucking gorgeous in that!” he was staring down at her new dress, now variously crumpled and dirtied from the sewer.

He kissed her hungrily again before she could respond, practically dragging her to the ground with him as his hands started to roam over her body eagerly.

He stopped himself after a bit, breathing rather raggedly.

“Alright, shit… I can’t look you in that dress and _not_ do anything… take it off…” he smirked, his voice temptingly low.

She laughed at him, punching his shoulder lightly.

“So… what happened?” he took a deep breath but his eyes were still mostly fixed on the dress tightly hugging her body.

She cuddled to him. Suddenly she didn’t really feel that tired, she just wanted to spend her time with him, before Mercer got any other bright ideas. She told him about the party, about the captured dragon and the people gawking at her like she was some attraction at a fair. He got angry when she told him about having to consume the soul and subsequently strangely pensive when she told him how Raven took pity on her and promised to unshackle her.

Barely a second after she finished telling him about her arduous day, he pulled her close again, his lips fastening around hers.

It was obvious that he was immensely relieved having his hands free of the shackles as they roamed and squeezed everywhere.

The bracelets on her arms jingled with every movement, pleasantly drowning out the occasional noise from the other inmates.

Bishop tentatively bit into the upper part of her earlobe finding the obstructing earring and pulling it swiftly away, eliciting a yelp from her at the sudden pinch and loss of pressure. He must have noticed that her ear was somewhat sore, because instead of nibbling and biting into it he gently ran her tongue over in a calming movement.

She loved this about him… he could be rough, but every time he noticed her in any kind of pain or distress, he knew exactly how to soothe her or take her mind off things. And even as he continued the treatment, his hands gripped at her hips and backside demandingly, pulling her firmly towards him – it was an overwhelming combination of unbridled need and caring.

He repeated the process on her other earlobe as he moved one of his hands upwards across her back, untangling the dress behind her neck.

He pulled back from her for a spell, placing her firmly on her back on the ground as he pulled the dress slowly down to her waist, staring at her naked breasts for a while with palpable intensity in his eyes.

The considerable bulge in his trousers rubbed against her as he descended down on her, kneading her breasts eagerly and swirling his tongue in her mouth.

Her hands snuck under his tunic, roaming around the firm abdominal muscles and eliciting a grunt from him whenever she touched him on the lower parts of his stomach.

Was she teasing him too much?

He _did_ show an admirable restraint every time they explored each other like this. This time, however his demanding body seemed more insistent than before as he continued to grind himself against her firmly more often, sending jolts that felt strangely like electricity through her whole body.

She felt his hand suddenly drop to her thigh, bundling the dress as it touched her bare skin.

The hand traveled upwards tantalizingly slowly, rousing her from her daze when she felt a tinge of panic at his proximity.

She quickly grabbed at his wrist as he pulled his head back from her chest with a rather pained expression on his face.

“Just… not… here,” she looked around the bleak cell, again reminded of their predicament, shivering a little. It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago she was looking forward to the empty room, only the four damp cold walls surrounding them with a lone torch for a source of light. It mirrored their situation perfectly.

Bishop nodded but didn’t say anything.

She wasn’t sure if he was upset or just trying to calm his body down.

“Do you… do you think it’s weird… doing this… here?” she bit her lower lip briefly. It seemed like a strange reaction to her, that in face of such danger and fear they were capable of forgetting everything and cloud their minds with passion.

“Not really. We’re stuck here, might as well make the best of it. Besides, it’s better than wallowing in self-pity,” he smirked, laying himself on his back on the ground, still breathing a bit unevenly.

She felt kind of bad about ending things so abruptly.

She also felt a little strange about teasing him.

And she felt really embarrassed at what she was thinking.

Determined to overcome her inhibitions, she curled up to him and started to roam her hand on his firm stomach again.

He drew a sharp breath in as she brushed lower, catching her wrist in his hand.

“Ease up, princess, unless you wanna take this further,” he let her hand go but she returned it to his lower abdomen again, blushing fiercely.

“I just… if you really don’t mind that we’re here… I could…”

He raised his eyebrow at her in surprise as she looked down at the bulge on his trousers pointedly before her shyness got the best of her and she buried her blushing face in his side.

He chuckled at her, placing a hand under her chin, raising it upwards and bending his face down to catch her lips again. She pressed herself closer to him, enjoying the breathtaking kiss as her hands still lay on his stomach, hesitating.

She pulled back from him slightly, averting her eyes and speaking more into his shoulder than at him. “You do know… I never really… um…” she heard him chuckle again, getting even more embarrassed as he stroked her tangled hair with the arm that was lying underneath her.

He pulled her chin up again, forcing her to look at him with a smirk. “I love seeing you this flustered,” he grinned as he captured her in another kiss, moving his hand over her hesitative one and guiding it lower, the bracelets jingling against his skin lightly, jolts of cold from the metal prickling him every now and then.

His hand placed hers over the fabric of his trousers between his legs, waiting until she took the initiative to feel him up. The sounds of their fellow prison mates were pleasantly drowned out by the ring of the bracelets and Bishop’s occasional low groans of approval, echoing across the four walls surrounding them.

After a while, she slowed her explorations and he guided her hand again, first up back to his stomach, then down again sliding under the waistband of both his trousers and undergarments. He then let go of her again, urging her to explore on her own.

She ran her fingers along the length of him gently.

She never really saw a fully naked man outside of some specialized restoration school books… well she didn’t see one now, but she could feel him.

There were some… incidents at the temple where a drunk or an addict bared themselves to some cleric or initiate but she somehow managed to avoid that kind of interaction. Furthermore, treating ‘social diseases’ was a responsibility for priests who took their vows and went through their vigil rather than clerics. Luckily, since that might have soured her curiosity.

From the feel of it he was quite larger than she anticipated. She did feel him press against her before, but this was much different.

She got a little nervous.

Were Nords and Bosmer even physically able to do _that_ together? But if not, that would likely be a known fact. And Bishop would definitely know and he probably wouldn’t have approached her in Riverwood in the first place… he did try to sleep with her pretty fast.

She felt his hand return to hers as he gently guided her up to towards the tip, likely getting too frustrated by her slow progress. His hand wrapped hers along his girth and he slowly pushed her thumb at the wet tip, circling it around for a while, smearing the fluid a bit, before guiding her hand back down, then up again.

He let out a strained groan as he felt her get into the rhythm and withdrew his hand from his trousers, placing it firmly on her bare breast, kneading it and pulling and pinching her nipple teasingly. He buried his head into her hair, more groans and grunts escaping his lips gradually as she continued her movements squeezing his girth a bit tighter every now and then, the teasing hand on her breast getting more and more insistent.

After some time she felt him twitch between his fingers more often.

“Faster,” he managed to grunt into her hair as he continued his own ministrations on her body with increasing intensity.

She let out a strained moan as his hand squeezed around her breast harder, the small tinge of pain strangely exciting her.

When she felt him twitch and pulsate under her hand some more, she quickened the pace again, her bracelets now jingling in a steady song.

It didn’t take long then for him to let out a deep grunt, a warm substance moving down her hand and wetting the fabric of his clothes.

She waited without moving for a time before his ragged breathing calmed down a bit, her hand still around him, squeezing him occasionally as he softened in her grip.

After a while she untangled herself from him, wiping her hand briefly on the inside of his clothes. They were dirty already anyways. He mentally cursed himself for remaining clothed when there was no access to water and soap, but the fabric and the leather of his trousers were thick and at least wouldn’t show anything. Hopefully he would get a chance to clean up soon.

She looked up at him as she withdrew her hand from him. He kissed her deeply as her face was close to him, their frantic touching and teasing turning much calmer now.

She pulled her dress back over herself, not to waste time in case someone came to shackle them in the morning, and she pulled herself comfortably against him, stroking over his chest gently as he played with her hair.

The gentle jingle of her bracelets, as she was stroking over his muscles, lulled them to sleep soon enough, their thought pleasantly distracted from their current situation.


	37. Honeyed Words

_ Author’s note: _

_TRIGGER WARNING: nothing explicit, only insinuations of potential non-con acts._

* * *

A frantic rattle of keys woke him up as the door was thrown open hurriedly.

“What? Tonc?” Bishop rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he focused on the Redguard woman scrambling around their cell, hurrying towards the corner of the room and retrieving their shackles.

“It’s Tonilia, asshole! Stop calling me that! And get the fuck up!”

He rose to his feet, noticing that Aeyrin was still sleeping peacefully on the ground. She really could sleep through anything. He ruffled her hair gently, shaking her shoulder after that proved useless.

“Hmmm… What?” she mumbled, attempting to bury her head into… something, only to find nothing but cold stone underneath.

“Get the fuck up, girl! And shove that cloth in your mouth! Now!” Tonilia yelled as she locked the shackles around Bishop’s wrists, throwing the pieces of cloth at her.

Aeyrin still looked confused but took the cloth tentatively and placed it gently in her mouth before the Redguard pulled her roughly to her feet, shackling her and fastening the last cloth over her head firmly.

She looked them over frantically, listening for a while to the noises of the chamber before deciding it’s still safe to talk.

“You two, Raven and Brynjolf. All. Fucking. Idiots!” she ran out then, slamming the door behind her and locking it again.

Bishop chuckled lightly as they sat against the wall again after the woman’s performance.

“She was always fun,” he shook his head with a smile but then spotted the crease between Aeyrin’s brows. “Not like that, sweetness. Vekel would have skinned me alive,” he chuckled again, rather pleased that she got jealous only after a small comment like that.

Soon enough the door opened again, Raven and Mercer walking inside.

Mercer was wearing a nasty sneer, looking very disturbingly excited for some reason.

His eyes rested on Bishop, narrowing maliciously: “Your turn.”

Bishop only sighed and got up from the floor, looking at Frey expectantly.

“Of course, let’s not forget the incentive,” he gave another mean grin as he clasped Raven’s shoulder.

“Right… just so you know, if you kill her, a dragon might eat you later,” Bishop smirked at him. It was one of the better things about Aeyrin being the only one able to kill the dragons – it ensured them that no one would actually _want_ to kill her. Mercer was surely all too aware of the implications, especially after his little party.

“I’m well aware of the importance of keeping her alive, don’t you worry about that,” Mercer nodded in feigned solemnity, his grin returning in a second.

“That’s why if you fail to meet my conditions, Raven can have his fun with her.”

All their eyes, including Raven’s, went wide at that, staring at Mercer’s amused smirk.

“We’ll have to keep her shackled and gagged… for his protection, mainly… but he can deal with the details, right?” Mercer nodded at Raven, his face turning stern and threatening.

“I… uh… I don’t really… uh…” Raven stammered, the shock in his eyes still apparent.

“Did you say something Raven? You _did_ understand the order, right?!” Mercer’s gaze pierced him intensely as he recoiled.

“Y-yes, boss,” he slumped his shoulders a little, his eyes downcast.

“Good. It’s a reward for your service after all. I noticed you getting very… chummy with your charge. I figured you would be grateful,” Mercer continued to grin evilly as he looked over Aeyrin’s horrified expression and Bishop’s furious scowl.

“T-thanks… boss…” Raven almost whispered, his eyes still not meeting his.

“Good. Well, that should be sufficient incentive. Come,” he nodded to Bishop who managed to give one more worried look to Aeyrin as he was dragged away.

“Been spending a lot of time with Thorn? Seems like it’s rubbing off on you,” Bishop spat out as he was dragged roughly by Mercer.

“I have. And I might have some more business with him again soon, if you don’t watch your fucking mouth.”

…

He was dragged back into the cistern and shoved to kneel on the filthy carpet in front of Mercer’s desk again.

Mercer lounged on his ‘throne’, sneering, before he finally started to talk: “So here’s the deal. You know Goldenglow estate?”

Bishop nodded, he knew every inch of the Rift and Frey was aware of that – the question was pointless.

“We need some things retrieved from the inside and some message to be sent.”

Great. Sending ‘messages’, that usually meant beating people up half-dead or torturing them – one of the reasons that Bishop went against this asshole in the first place back then. Mercer knew he hated his methods – he always used him and the others with more… colorful pasts to do this kind of dirty work, knowing that the others wouldn’t tolerate it. That made his ‘incentive’ all the weirder – Raven was really not callous enough to be able to go through with something like that.

“Why the fuck do you need _me_?” Bishop grumbled, he knew he was there just for Mercer’s own bruised ego, but he still would need to explain to the Guild why he was giving a pretty standard job to an outsider.

“Because the incompetent idiots have already tried. Even Vex did – and she’s our best. She barely got out alive. The place is crawling with mercs,” Mercer shrugged as Bishop got a bit nervous… he was good, but he still was not really a professional thief, there were others in the Guild better than him – especially Vex.

Mercer fished in his table for a large parchment before continuing.

“The estate has a new owner and Maven wants the deed for herself. The owner knows and is trying to piss us off. And Maven’s not really patient. So… we thought of a different way to infiltrate the place. However…”

He unrolled the parchment and presented it to Bishop – it was littered with little sketches of countless Guild members.

“The new owner apparently knows us well and has decided to distribute this to the mercs. Now we need someone adequately skilled who is not on this charming piece of paper, you catch my drift?”

Bishop nodded… so he even had a way in? That seemed too easy.

“The deed to the estate would be in the safe in the basement but don’t even try to pick it. You need a key. The current estate keeper has it and he hides himself in the upper floors usually. Delvin also wants some fucking golden bee statue for that imbecilic collection of his, so find that too. Oh! The message… might blow your cover though,” Mercer snickered. “Burn some beehives… easy right? Just not all, Maven wants them. Burn three.”

Bishop gave him a confused look, he was expecting much worse from Mercer.

“Three hives? What if the fire spreads?” he asked, desperate to find the catch.

“Put it out?” Frey sneered before motioning to one of the Guild members in the cistern to approach.

Ravyn – the ex-assassin approached them with a grin. Mercer _did_ like to depend on that man – they were both similarly vicious.

“We made sure you’re already hired as one of the mercs. Even got you a house uniform. And a backstory. See, they were re-hiring some mercs after our last attempt when we managed to bribe one to smuggle us in. We needed to act fast. So you were actually hired some time ago but couldn’t really make it. Your name is ‘Kligul Elf-Crusher’,” Mercer smirked as Bishop raised his brow at him

“’Elf-Crusher’?”

Frey chuckled merrily. “We didn’t know we’d be using you, but now it seems so fitting,” he laughed surprisingly childishly.

“Anyway… we made the description purposefully vague and used a Nord name. Now that you so graciously visited us, you fit the bill exactly. We _did_ have to explain your lapse in work hours until now, so we let a rumor out while biding our time,” Mercer’s grin turned malicious again as he continued. “It seems our dear Kligul got himself captured by bandits. And now he escaped… but… he’s a little worse for the wear,” Mercer nodded at Ravyn excitedly.

The Dunmer pulled out a dagger with a grin and Bishop noticed the familiar metal rod in his other hand.

Well… he _did_ find the catch.

…

Raven hasn’t moved since Mercer left.

He looked around the cell uncomfortably as if not sure what to do with himself.

Aeyrin pressed her back against the wall.

Being in the small room with him felt suddenly so unsettling; she instinctively felt like she needed to place some distance between them – as if that would help. She was already uncomfortable from his overly familiar attention, but still a bit apprehensive about snapping at him. She wasn’t sure what Mercer would consider being uncooperative, especially now.

Would he really do _that_ on Mercer’s order?

Then again, he was probably counting on having to kill her if anything happened – that was worse.

But still… it seemed a strange thing to do on order. Like torture. She couldn’t imagine anyone going through that – causing someone constant pain and living with themselves.

Sure, she killed people – bandits and other scum like that, but it was always when she knew that battle was inevitable.

She couldn’t imagine tormenting someone helpless.

And how helpless she was right now, and all too aware of it with her hands bound and her mouth gagged. She was strong, sure, but not strong enough to overpower a man much larger than her without her hands.

Raven made eye contact with her… it felt strange, but his eyes were sad.

“Um…” he rubbed the back of his head with his hand, his charming smile and smooth tongue suddenly nowhere to be seen.

“I’m… I’m sure nothing will go wrong. Bishop’s an ass, but he’s good… I mean…. Uhm… the job’s pretty dangerous and… umm… no… I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he was talking half to himself.

He didn’t want to do this, it was so obvious!

Why did everyone follow Mercer’s orders? Was it because of his associates?

Raven was so open with her before. Maybe she could talk to him again. Maybe she could even convince him to go against Frey if anything went wrong.

She made sounds under her gag eagerly, giving him a pleading look.

Raven looked at her for a long time, obviously waging an internal battle before he let out a defeated sigh.

He approached her, grabbing his pack with him tentatively and started to undo her gag. “You need to eat and drink something. After that, the gag goes back,” he said quietly and she tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling she suddenly got at his proximity. She didn’t know why – it wasn’t as if he was going to pounce on her just then and there and especially not without orders, but it still felt so much worse now.

The moment she breathed out, she stated to talk before he managed to fish out a waterskin from his pack.

“Raven, you don’t want to do this, do you?”

Raven obviously considered ignoring her for a while but then sighed again.

“No… well… I do… but not like that! I mean I would, if you were into it…” seeing her expression he just shook his head. “I didn’t think he’d ask me to do anything. I just thought I would have to watch you until the job was done. I knew he wouldn’t have you killed and assumed he would leave well enough alone… pfft… as if he ever did.”

Raven’s mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. It was so easy to get him talking. The madman really was right – he _did_ sing too much.

He pressed the waterskin to her lips and gently leaned it, apparently not even considering undoing her shackles. She struggled somewhat at first but soon drank at a steady rhythm, spilling some water on her dress when Raven didn’t think of stopping.

“Sorry,” he gave her a bashful smile. She remembered Bishop calling him two-faced – it was obvious why now, his bravado and sleaziness faltering in front of her several times already. She just hoped that this gentle and kind face was the real one.

“Raven, why do you all listen to him? Even Brynjolf and that… Redguard woman, you all helped us. And that other woman who found Karnwyr! None of you want to go along with his sadistic games. Why don’t you just stop?”

Raven looked at her in suspicion for a spell before practically barking out: “Did Bishop put you up to this?!”

Her eyes went wide in surprise: “What? No… I can see it for myself! Why would you ask that?”

Raven’s expression wavered again, that apologetic and kind face returning: “You sound just like him… back then...” he sighed. “There’s plenty in the Guild who are more than fine with Mercer’s approach. And his associates... When you get on his bad side… well… you’re better off not knowing. It got worse after what happened with Bishop… he tried to break away, and when he couldn’t… he tried to… mutiny… for lack of a better word. It kind of worked… until it didn’t. He was the only one to get caught… it was bad. Some people got punished too because Mercer suspected them… but it wasn’t until we heard… never-never mind. It was a… cautionary tale. No one really went against Mercer since.”

The uncomfortable feeling she had from him ever since Mercer gave his order was suddenly long gone. She was dying with curiosity about what really happened, but ever Raven wasn’t willing to talk about that.

Maybe Bishop would confide in her in time.

“You don’t seem to like Bishop…” Aeyrin wondered. It seemed from what he said, that he was one of the people who actually joined Bishop’s ‘rebellion’.

“A lot of people got hurt because of him… a lot of good people,” he looked to the ground solemnly.

“But you _did_ want to stop following Mercer too, didn’t you? Didn’t you agree with him?” Aeyrin tried again to get him to divulge more.

He gave her a sincere look, sorrow etched in his eyes: “I saw too soon what was coming. I warned him. He thought he’d be the only one to suffer the consequences so he played a fucking martyr and didn’t listen. It was his fault that he… that good people suffered. He should have listened to me.”

She gave him a sympathetic nod, the helplessness was all too familiar to her. She didn’t think she had any choice but to obey the sadistic mind of Ri’zhassa too back when she was a child and neither did her father.

Sometimes people needed someone on the outside to help them escape, like Master Therien did for her.

Maybe once they get out of there… _if_ they get out of there…

Raven fished in his pack again, but didn’t pull out the expected food. She didn’t see what it was – he hid it in the palm of his hand quickly.

She felt his other hand rest at the back of her neck before he whispered: “I am so sorry you got mixed up in all this. No one deserves to be mixed up in this…”

He gave her the familiar sweet smile but his voice was full of pain. “Please, you have to be careful. You can’t end up like… _him_.”

She wasn’t sure who he was talking about but her musings were interrupted as she felt him loosen the string of her dress.

What was he doing?!

A chill went down her spine and she flinched away immediately, but his hand gripped her neck steadily.

“Easy, don’t worry. I won’t… I just wanted to give you something.”

That wasn’t really comforting!

But it wasn’t as if she could run away from him in the cell.

She felt him lowering her dress slightly but mercifully stopping above her breasts.

Then she felt the familiar magical warmth of the cold delicate chain around her neck. She looked down at the amulet of Stendarr she had for so long now – an unexpected gift from Bishop when they barely knew each other.

He quickly pulled her dress over it and fastened it behind her back, whispering comfortingly: “You know, I was charged with watching you, both times you were here. I got curious after Vex and Rune found out who you were and asked to be in charge of watching you… heh… you managed to slip away from the city anyway.”

He chuckled at that, making her frown in suspicion. ‘Slip away’? They never ‘slipped away’. She didn’t even know they were being watched after the incident at the warehouse. Did Raven actually let them leave to spare them from Mercer’s plans? He _did_ sound morose when he mentioned their return to the city.

“I noticed you always wore this. I just thought… for comfort. If something… no, never mind. Just, keep it hidden.”

The door swung open suddenly.

Was it not locked?

…

Karnwyr almost toppled him to the ground as he barked excitedly at the sight of his friend.

Bishop winced as the wolf placed his paws roughly against a particularly nasty bruise on his stomach, but gritted his teeth to endure.

Seeing Karnwyr was definitely worth it.

Sadly, it had to be short lived.

“Karnwyr, fuck, you have to go back into the woods,” he gave him an apologetic pat on the head when the wolf inclined his head to the side in confusion.

“It won’t be long now, I swear. No one can find you in the meantime though,” Bishop gave him a determined nod as he sat himself in the small boat on the shore by the road – Goldenglow was just a short boat ride ahead.

The wolf looked like he wanted to join him but walked away dejectedly after a while.

It didn’t matter.

He just needed to get through this and they would be together again.

All of them.


	38. Catching Birds and Burning Bees

“The fuck are you?”

The burly Nord in a uniform identical to his own eyed him suspiciously.

“Kligul. Elf-Crusher,” Bishop had to do his best not to roll his eyes at that stupid name.

“The fuck you been?” the Nord continued, his eyes still narrowed dangerously.

“A beach at the Summerset Isles, where the fuck do you think, ice-brain?!” Bishop snapped at him, gesturing towards his brand new shiner, split lip and a deep cut right below his temple, traveling to his neck.

They made sure the wounds looked like they were already cleaned and healed a little and his neck was still decorated with the dark bruises from the other day.

Why did they hit his stomach and arm again?

Right, because Mercer and Ravyn are sadistic pricks who definitely just need to overcompensate something.

The Nord still waited impatiently so Bishop sighed and responded: “Bandits.”

The Nord nodded, satisfied, with an amused grin: “Right. We heard. You’re on the ground floor duty. Get to it.”

Alright. He couldn’t get anyone suspicious. If they traced this back to ‘Kligul’, it would break one of Mercer’s conditions.

And what the fuck was with him and his ‘incentive’?

Raven wouldn’t really do that, would he? He _was_ uncomfortably handsy with Aeyrin. But he did actually seem to genuinely like her too, Bishop knew him well enough to be able to tell. He wouldn’t have agreed to un-cuff her otherwise or told her all those things about Mercer. He was an annoying blabbermouth, but he didn’t talk to anyone he didn’t really trust in some way.

Mercer was a sick freak.

He wasn’t above fixating on some small fucking detail and then claiming that Bishop didn’t fulfill the conditions.

Actually, he wasn’t above making some shit up.

He wasn’t going to allow that.

No one will touch her, no matter what he had to do to stop them.

He took a breath to calm himself a bit.

Well, the easiest way to achieve that was to do everything perfectly.

He strolled casually around the mansion, noting any entry points inconspicuously along with any patterns of loose creaky floorboards or obstructions.

The mercenaries were numerous, but he could hardly blame the new owner, especially after the Guild already made several attempts to infiltrate the place.

He made sure that he saw all there is to see on the ground floor and waited by a more secluded stairwell, pretending to lean on the wall with a bored expression as he carefully listened to every step and scramble above him.

Finally the coast seemed clear.

He made his way up, quick and quiet.

There was a door right beside him and loud snoring could be heard behind it.

Perfect.

He checked inside the keyhole just in case – there was only one merc in the room and he was fast asleep.

He slipped in quietly and looked around.

He needed a place where he could scour the whole floor.

His eyes were drawn to the wooden beams above him, beautifully accessible everywhere under the tall roof.

Now he just needed to get there.

“Whaddya starin’ at?” the sleeping merc suddenly murmured, his eyes half-lidded. He likely didn’t even see Bishop properly.

“Another fucking spider. I hear they’re breeding the buggers in the basement. You know... in case the bees get out of control,” Bishop rambled. Pretending to be stupid always made people at ease.

The merc chuckled with a snort before turning his back to Bishop and going back to sleep.

He stood still, waiting for the tell-tale even breathing before he decide to go for it.

He approached one of the mounted heads of a boar tentatively.

He looked back to the sleeping guard, ensuring that he was huffing out blissfully before he yanked down at the mounted beast.

It held fast.

Good.

He started to use it as a climbing point, poking himself painfully with the tusks accidentally several times.

His progress was so slow and he needed to check on the sleeping merc too often, but eventually he made it up on the tall beam.

Now someone would need to be staring straight up to see him. It was still possible though.

He would need to come up with an excuse if that happened.

…

Mercer sneered at them as he entered the cell.

Aeyrin was still shackled but her gag was gone as she pressed herself back to the wall.

Raven was right next to her, squatting as his face was close to hers, his pack by his feet.

“Mercer! I was just about to feed her. Is… something wrong?” his easy smile and honeyed voice were back like they never wavered, although his face creased a bit at the realization that Mercer might be there to tell them that Bishop failed.

Mercer stood silently, he left the door wide open and he walked over to one of the four walls, leaning on it with a stony expression.

What was he doing?

The door was open!

Was she free to go? Why didn’t he say anything?

In an agonizingly long while a familiar voice started screeching through the halls: “Hahaha!! The young bird is caught! So many songs he sang! Caged meat tastes the best! Hahaha!!”

The worry on both their faces was hard to hide but Raven still managed to sound somewhat calm.

“Mercer, what’s going on? Should I release her? Why are you here?” he pretended to ignore the wails – it was just a madman after all.

Mercer didn’t answer still, now his eyes fastened on Raven.

“If we’re not releasing her, I’ll just… go on and feed her then. I… need to put the gag back after, and…”

Mercer suddenly straightened back up, looking at them intently.

“Take her dress off, Raven,” his face betrayed no emotion as he watched them.

They both looked back at him in shock.

Did that mean that Bishop failed? Did something happen to him? There was a horrible pit in her stomach. Raven said that the job was dangerous. What if he was killed? Nothing that Mercer or Raven would do to her would compare to the horror of that.

But then again, if he was dead, Mercer wouldn’t need to go through with this ‘incentive’.

“Umm… boss, did Bishop…” Raven started to stammer but got interrupted immediately.

“I gave an order, Raven!”

Raven didn’t move an inch. It took a long while before Mercer stopped waiting and spoke again: “You seem awfully concerned about your charge. We had an agreement.”

Agreement? About her? What did he mean?

“It’s not like that, boss! It’s just… if you break the deal with Bishop… well, it won’t go over well in the Guild… and she won’t cooperate either…” Raven seemed decidedly more nervous. It looked like there were beads of sweat forming on his brow.

Mercer narrowed his eyes and walked over to them swiftly. Before she managed to react he grabbed at the hem of her dress by her neck and yanked down carelessly, ripping the string that held it fastened and uncovering her collarbone and one breast… and the amulet.

Her instinct urged her to cover herself – either her naked skin or the amulet, but she couldn’t do either. Her hands twitched from behind her back and all she managed was a surprised gasp.

He must have heard them talk about the amulet before he entered – he made no further attempt to undress her, it was clear that he found his prize.

He grabbed the amulet and ripped it violently from her neck, eliciting a painful yelp from her as she felt the chain dig into her skin before snapping in half.

He straightened himself, looking straight at Raven whose face was now the epitome of fear.

He threw the amulet on the ground and stomped on it, smashing it into million pieces as a small warm-white fog escaped from under the sole of his boot when the magic dissipated.

A pain clutched at her chest at the sight, but she needed to remember that it was just a thing… there were more important things at stake here.

Mercer snapped his fingers and a dark figure entered the room – he must have been hiding around the corner.

“Ravyn, this is your new charge. Raven is relieved of duty. Make sure she’s taken care of and secured. You may entertain her with those stories everyone loves so much.”

The Dunmer’s grin was unsettling but Mercer didn’t smile or sneer.

He waited as Raven got up on his shaky feet and dragged him away from the cell, leaving Aeyrin utterly confused.

“NO!!! Not the dark one! He scares my meat!! Scaring it takes away the sweet taste!!” the madman screamed maniacally as her eyes moved to the Dark Elf.

‘Scares the meat’?

What was he gonna do to her?

And what was going to happen to Raven?

Was it her fault?

The Dunmer approached her and bent down, his disturbing smile still etched on his face as he fished around the pack left behind by Raven.

“Hungry, hla-aka?”

What did he call her?

She didn’t even manage to respond before he shoved a rather large slab of unidentifiable charred meat to her mouth, making her choke a little.

It tasted so strange – both ashy and… sinewy. It was strangely rubbery, as if he was feeding her a sole of a dirty shoe.

She did her best to chew and swallow as he continued the unpleasant force feeding for some time.

Getting a drink from the waterskin was hardly any better with this elf as she felt like she was being water boarded instead.

He insisted she finished the whole bottle though, ensuring her that it was her only meal and drink of the day.

He dragged her through the still open door hastily after the ‘feeding’ was done and locked her promptly in another much smaller cell, obviously used as a privy.

The smell made the bile rise in her throat and she was somewhat grateful that he didn’t gag her and she could at least bury her nose in her shoulder to stop the smell from getting in and breathe through her mouth – not that that was much better.

All of this however didn’t really matter.

All she could think about was what all this meant.

Was Bishop alright? Was he alive? Was he in trouble?

The Dunmer gave her even more time than necessary in the small cell – unfortunately, due to the smell.

He dragged her back later and closed the door firmly behind them.

After a little while the bolts and keys echoed through the cell.

Someone else was there?

The door likely only locked from the outside.

The Dunmer eyed her unsettlingly, reminding her that half her chest was still bare.

He approached her and yanked the dress back over her. The string was ripped and he definitely didn’t bother fixing it, but her breasts luckily held the tight dress in place now.

He picked up the gag from the damp ground as she groaned in frustration at him.

He didn’t care.

She missed Raven’s gentleness.

“Open up, hla-aka. It’s time for stories.”

She had no idea what stories he had in mind but she obeyed. It was possible that their deal with Mercer was still intact and she was not about to jeopardize it just yet.

Raven _did_ make it clear that Mercer couldn’t exactly kill or punish people without reason as the Guild members would not take it well. It seemed like the man was on thin ice with his subordinates. She was curious what horrible things he did to earn this kind of conditional loyalty and fear.

The elf shoved the rag in her mouth unceremoniously – very deep, deeper than Raven did the first time. She started to choke and gag immediately, doubling over as a burning pain spread through her throat, her chest and stomach heaving painfully.

After fastening the second rag, the Dunmer stepped back a bit and watched her struggle for breath with twisted interest.

It took so long before she began to take control of her breathing again, the rag still tickling her inside uncomfortably, eliciting an occasional gag from her.

She did manage not to throw up, however.

Drowning in her own vomit in a dank cell was not really how she imagined going out.

“In the corner, hla-aka,” the man grinned maliciously when he considered she had enough time to recover. He gestured towards the darkest corner of the cell.

Why did he want her in the corner?

She walked over uncertainly and lowered herself to sit against the wall as he gestured again in downward motion.

Soon enough he was by her side, pressing against her creepily as he pulled out a very sharply pointed dagger.

It was still stained with someone’s blood.

She flinched away from him as best she could but she quickly got the point of being chased into a corner.

“Let’s see…” the Dunmer mused, pointing the tip of the dagger against his own cheek casually for a while, before he waved the hand excitedly, nearly slashing across her face.

“I know! The perfect story for you, hla-aka. Have you ever heard of the Morag Tong? No matter… I’ll tell you plenty stories from my time with them. But the first one has to be perfect. See, we had a little competition running. There was a nobleman who didn’t like the look of your kind, hla-aka… the little elves. Every time he met one, he put a contract on them. So we started to compete on who took care of the most.”

He started to glaze the tip of the dagger across her cheek. It did sting at a time but fortunately it didn’t go deep at all.

She shivered and pressed herself into the corner more but it only served to amuse him as he moved the blade to glide around her temple, then down below her ear and promptly up and over its length.

“See, hla-aka, what’s better than collecting writs? Those can be forged. So we collected ears…”

…

Bishop was staring down into the large room, squatting on a wooden beam above.

That Breton was annoyingly pacing around the room, not giving him any opening.

And what if he had the safe key on him?

Should he knock him out?

He saw the golden bee statue on the bedside table. It was ugly and gaudy, and who even needs a golden statue of a _bee_. People are weird.

Finally, the Breton stopped pacing.

He started to rummage in a dresser for a while, pulling out a fresh doublet, trousers and undergarments.

He watched intently as the Breton undressed his current clothing, finally spotting the key… around his neck.

Damn.

Maybe he took it off before bathing?

Well… no time like the present to find out.

He ignored the bee statue for now and followed along the beams above the small adjacent room where the Breton stopped, his hands lighting with flames as he heated the water in the wooden tub. When it was steaming, he took off the key on the chain on his neck predictably and plunged into the water, closing his eyes in satisfaction.

Great.

Now there was only one problem.

How to get the key?

He was too high to reach it but he spotted the armoire in the bathing room where he could climb down and back up on the beam again.

He could try to wait if he fell asleep, but that was risky and unlikely.

He decided to get closer to the armoire to ponder there.

 _CREAK_.

Shit.

One of the beams made a loud sound.

He needed to think quickly.

He rushed towards a beam intersection, but it was too likely that he was seen by the startled Breton.

Bishop heard quick squelching footsteps below. The Breton left the bath.

He returned quickly, the bathroom now quiet and the key on the table.

He heard the voice from one room over: “Up on the beams! I’m telling you.”

He didn’t have time. He jumped down with a muffled thud.

Thank the Divines for the enchanted boots. It was rather surprising that Mercer sprung out for such a piece of equipment to make his mission easier, but then he remembered that he didn’t know it would be _him_ wearing them at first.

He grabbed the key quickly and ran into the large room, snatching the gaudy statue.

What now?

He heard footsteps approach. One barefoot, other one armored.

He needed to hide.

Now.

He tumbled under the bed, steadying his breath tentatively.

“Sir, there’s no one here…” he heard a gruff voice – likely a merc.

“I’m telling you! There was a person on the beam! I saw a shadow!” the Breton cried out, his voice quivering. It was likely that all the previous infiltration attempts had him rattled.

“Sir… it was probably the flicker of the chandelier. How would anyone even get up there?” the merc replied.

Pffft… amateur.

“Please, sir… just enjoy your bath,” he heard the door to the bathroom close and footsteps traversing the large room. “Or put some damn clothes on at least, little half-elf freak,” the merc mumbled to himself on his way, eliciting a smirk from Bishop.

The door to the large room closed and he could finally get out from under the bed.

Now to get back up on the beams... he used the nearby bookcase and traversed blessedly undisturbed back to the stairwell, taking again his post at the ground floor and peeking through the floor cracks to outline the layout of the basement.

…

Eventually he determined that getting through the basement was impossible. There were so many mercs down there and no place to hide.

He _did_ get another idea however.

He did have access to the kitchens.

He located a stray piece of parchment and some dried frost mirriam. He ground the dried plant into little snippets and rolled it into the parchment, sealing it on both ends.

Perfect.

He headed out of the front door confidently, stopped only by the mercenary guarding the entrance.

“Back to your post!” the Nord rumbled angrily.

“Oh come on, it’s so boring. I’ll just enjoy this little beauty and be right back,” Bishop winked at him and showed him the rolled up herb.

“The fuck’s that?” the merc narrowed his eyes at it.

“Hackle-lo leaf. Never heard of it?” Bishop asked; he did have to make the story believable if there was any suspicion.

The merc shook his head in negation and Bishop started to explain excitedly: “Damn, man, you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s some weird plant from the grey-skins. I think it grows in volcanoes or some shit.” He needed to keep up his act – no one ever suspects the stupid ones. “It gets you all mellow. And the boredom just flies by,” he smiled, pretending to ponder for a while.

“You want some?”

Of course he did.

“Let’s go hide somewhere. Otherwise everyone else will want it too,” Bishop smirked as the Nord nodded, dumbfounded but obviously too intrigued to protest.

Bishop led him straight towards the beehives, lighting the parchment on one of the torches around.

It burned pretty steadily and he took a puff from it to assure the merc.

It was harmless, really.

He smiled to himself, brushing his thumb over the silver ring on his finger briefly, remembering trying that with Jules back when they returned to Skyrim. One of the Khajiit in a travelling caravan convinced them that it was just like smoking hackle-lo.

It wasn’t. But it didn’t really do anything unless one inhaled too much.

He passed the rolled up herb to the Nord, assessing the situation inconspicuously as he blew out the smoke, careful not to get it in his lungs and cough. It wasn’t harmful but it wasn’t exactly pleasant when too much of it got in – a fact that would play in his favor.

The merc took a puff tentatively and lowered his arm holding the burning parchment.

He started coughing and lost his focus on surroundings for a spell.

Perfect.

He stood only a short distance from one of the hives.

“Shit! A bee!” Bishop yelled out and pushed into the confused Nord, his arm predictably flailing and colliding with the beehive, all dried up from the whole day of sun shining right atop it.

It caught fire immediately, the straw construction providing the perfect kindling.

The merc still coughed and spun around helplessly, the smoke from the fire confusing his perceptions further.

“Fuck, man! What are you doing?! The hive! Move away!” Bishop cried out again, pushing him once more, right into a second hive.

The idiot was still holding the burning herb stubbornly, it was unbelievably lucky.

He yelped as he crashed into the hive, lighting it aflame as he spun around and tried to get his bearings.

He did the rest himself as he flinched from the flames and ran backwards. His sleeve was on fire and he screamed out as he tried to douse it… against a third hive.

That was… he never believed the Divines ever did anything for anyone, but if he didn’t know any better, he would have said it was a gift for all the shit he went through for Mercer.

He grabbed the screaming man quickly to get him away from the flames and threw him on the ground.

No casualties.

“Roll!” he commanded as the merc rolled around a few times, effectively getting himself safely doused.

“Stay here, I’ll get help! Shit… I hope you don’t get fired for this, man,” he shook his head at him regretfully before running off.

The guard looked so baffled. He was certain he had no idea what really happened, likely blaming the ‘accident’ on himself.

…

“Fire! The beehives are on fire! Quick!”

He ran through the basement, alerting everyone and not stopping for a second.

His eyes were peeled on his surrounding, scanning for the safe.

He riled up all the guards he encountered, until he noticed a small alcove around the corner with metal bars for doors and two mercs around it.

Of course that was where the safe was.

But those two were likely on high alert – they wouldn’t care about the hives.

He draped his arm around his face, coughing furiously as he ran towards them with panic in eyes. They couldn’t see his face anyway.

“FIRE!!!” he coughed into his arm again, hiding his face further from them. “GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN!!!”

The mercs didn’t hesitate and started to run.

He quickly dropped to his knee and got his lockpicks out from the pack, fumbling with the metal doors.

He got in successfully, opening the safe in a matter of seconds and getting all the papers he found inside.

What now? The whole building was already on alert and the Breton noticed his missing key by now without a doubt.

His eyes were drawn to a metal grate on the floor.

He groaned, but it was his best option.

He opened the drain and climbed down, careful to close it back up again.

He traversed the short sewer, pinching his nose to avoid the smell until he finally reached another grate.

Bishop found himself behind the estate – there was commotion in the front. He watched some of the mercs scurry and drag buckets of water to the hives.

He noted that only those three of them were on fire.

Good, he didn’t know what he’d do if it spread out of control.

He noticed some mercs running towards a little boat as a loud screech was heard from one of the open windows on the top floor. It sounded like the Breton… and the mercs were likely escaping before he started to throw spells around, looking for the thief.

It was for the best, this way no one would be surprised that he left.

He snuck around the mansion for a bit before he located another boat.

An Imperial mercenary was already making his way towards it.

He quickly rushed forward, noting that his disguise was still largely intact even after walking through the sewer. Luckily it was large enough that he didn’t have to crawl. He did smell pretty bad, but hopefully the man would be too tactful to mention it. He closed the grate so anyone investigating would likely assume that he just left in the confusion without resorting to the sewer.

He jumped into the boat, seeing the Imperial wave at him and waited. It seemed less suspicious that way.

“Crazy fucking Breton!” the man huffed as he took a seat in the boat and Bishop started to row them to the shore.

“Why’s he freaking out?” Bishop raised his brow.

“Don’t know... probably the hives. But I hear he actually _froze_ the one guarding his door. Like with a fucking spell. I ain’t sticking around for that.”

Bishop nodded sympathetically and suffered through the man’s uncomfortable stares as he sniffed the air around. As expected though, he didn’t mention anything, bolting far away from Bishop the minute they reached the shore.

Perfect.

He did everything right.

There was no way anyone would suspect ‘Kligul’ of the theft.

Mercer better keep his end.


	39. The Price of Freedom

“You cannot be serious… what do you mean ‘free’?”

Vex frowned at Mercer in suspicion.

“Just what I said… he’s wanted to stop working for me. So I set him free. You aren’t prisoners, you know,” Frey chuckled with feigned amicability, the tension of the situation palpable in the air.

“Mercer…” Brynjolf’s voice carried a warning undertone. “We know Raven did something against your orders. And now, you’re claiming he just… left? Just like that?”

Brynjolf, Vex, Delvin and Mercer were gathered around his desk, glaring at each other.

Bishop stopped in his tracks some distance away when he overheard the conversation.

Raven was gone? There was no way he would just leave with Mercer agreeing. And what orders did he disobey? He was supposed to watch Aeyrin! Did Mercer order him to do something to her? And who was with her now?

Bishop’s eyes narrowed with worry.

He did his part. Mercer couldn’t just go back on the deal and get away with it, could he?

Frey noticed his presence all too soon, raising his brows at him.

Shit, now he won’t learn anything more.

He sighed determinedly and walked to the desk, pulling out the deed and the statue from his pack and laying them on the table with a scowl. They all went silent for a while, waiting for Mercer’s reaction.

“You have the deed?” Mercer didn’t even check the papers, glaring at Bishop hatefully.

“Are you illiterate, Mercer? Do you need me to read it for you?” Bishop sneered at him half angrily and half mockingly.

Mercer ignored his comment, still staring at him hatefully. “Did you burn three hives exactly? Can it be traced to you?” he continued his questions.

“Yes and no,” Bishop barked determinedly, he could see that he was angry at his success.

“If you did anything to her…” Bishop narrowed his eyes at him threateningly as Mercer scoffed.

“Even Mercer wouldn’t have the Dragonborn killed,” Delvin chuckled a bit derisively, eyeing the small golden statuette of a bee with interest.

“Killed?” Bishop raised his brow at Delvin, suddenly sensing an opportunity.

Mercer was clearly on thin ice with the Guild and he knew these people despised his methods. Brynjolf told him not to stir the pot, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted this asshole and all his ‘power’ to be snuffed out from the face of Nirn.

“Did you not tell them about your new creative ‘incentive’?” Bishop scoffed at him, eliciting confused and a bit worried expressions from the three Guild members.

“Deal’s done. Now release her and let us go,” Bishop spat, waiting, as Mercer scowled deeply.

“How would I know that this won’t be traced back to us?! You are staying until tomorrow. If nothing comes back to us, you’re free to leave.”

Did Frey’s hands shake a bit? He could feel the glares of the Guild members around them.

“Mercer…” Brynjolf took up his warning tone again, but the man was adamant.

“I need to be sure the deal was honored. Cuff him and take him to the cell, Brynjolf.”

There was a long moment of silence as Bishop’s blood boiled. He needed to calm himself, he had the upper hand now, he couldn’t ruin it.

Brynjolf nodded slowly but added adamantly: “I will personally make sure that they are released in the morning.”

“So will I,” Vex spat out, her initiative a bit surprising. It was hardly for Bishop’s benefit, but the disgusted glare she threw Frey was satisfying.

As Brynjolf fastened his cuffs, and lead him back towards the warrens, Bishop overheard Vex’s next retort: “I want to hear about this ‘incentive’, Mercer.”

…

They finally reached the cell, strange whispers from a raspy voice could be heard from behind the door.

As Brynjolf opened the door, he immediately spotted Aeyrin crouched in the corner, Ravyn pressed closely against her, the glint of his dagger shining in the faint torchlight.

His face turned pale at her frightened expression and the blood on her face and he almost rushed to the Dunmer and kicked his creepy ass to the pulp.

“Ravyn! Out, now!” Brynjolf practically screamed. He looked so livid. It seemed that Mercer’s schemes were pushing him too far.

“But the hla-aka is my charge!” the Dunmer pouted with a disturbing sneer, playing with the blade in his hands.

“Until _he_ comes back! OUT!”

Ravyn stood up slowly and walked away calmly as Brynjolf turned to Bishop, now perceptibly more at ease.

“Calm, lad. Just one more night. I swear to you, I will make sure,” Brynjolf clasped his shoulder before leaving and locking the cell behind them.

Bishop rushed to her, almost toppling over and falling on his face with his hands bound.

“Are you alright?! What did he do to you?” he looked over the cuts over her face and collar. Some were bleeding but all were shallow. They wouldn’t even scar and one little snap of her magic fingers could heal them completely.

She gave him a resolute nod, her expression decidedly braver with the elf gone.

She creased her brows worriedly then, staring at the bruises and cuts on him.

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head: “It’s nothing… just part of my disguise…” He chuckled at her confused expression. At least he did manage to wash himself by the lake and change out of the guard uniform; that would only raise more questions.

“It went fine, I did my part. And he better fucking did his! Did anyone do something? Did anyone touch you?”

She shook her head in response, a hint of sorrow in her black eyes.

What happened? Was _that_ what Raven refused to do?

“Where’s Raven?” he asked, not really sure what he was expecting.

Aeyrin looked at him sadly but only shrugged.

That fucking gag…

“Just… one more night, sweetness. We’ll be free after that,” he sighed nuzzling his head into her neck gently as she leaned into him.

“Just one more night.”

…

They spent another night huddled together uncomfortably. The bindings and cold stone floor were already taking their tolls. Aeyrin felt like she couldn’t even remember what a soft bed felt like.

She wondered if they would have any of their money returned to them so they could afford a room at an inn – this was still the Thieves Guild after all.

But these people seemed so much more.

What schemes did Mercer participate in? Captured dragon, stealing entire estates, and of course one could say he did have them abducted. Bishop _did_ say that they should avoid the Guild but she never could have imagined all this.

Her thoughts returned to Raven.

What did Mercer mean they had an agreement? And what happened to him after he was dragged away? Bishop told her what he overheard, but that only made her more uneasy.

Was he killed?

She pressed herself further into Bishop’s chest, hoping to chase away the thoughts.

The mad cannibal was blessedly quiet ever since Ravyn left.

Was that lunatic actually spying in the prison for Mercer? He seemed to take his ramblings at face value. She prayed that the man wouldn’t divulge anything that would jeopardize their freedom – like the fact that she convinced Raven to un-cuff them the previous night.

That night _was_ quite memorable though, despite their situation. She blushed slightly at the memory. If someone told her a year ago she would be doing _that_ in a dank prison cell… She didn’t regret a thing, though. Losing herself in these exploits with Bishop only helped her keep sane in here. Even now, curled so close to him, she almost forgot about Ravyn’s horror stories about those… Morag Tong people.

Thank the Divines she never travelled to Morrowind – that place sounded horrifying.

…

The familiar sound of locks and bolts roused them.

This time, it seemed to take longer than usual.

Perhaps it was the anticipation.

Bishop let out a sigh of relief when he spotted Brynjolf at the door; Aeyrin tried to do the same, but the gag somewhat prevented that.

Brynjolf gave them a smile, but he looked incredibly tired, the dark circles around his eyes and his slumped down stance were speaking for themselves.

“We have verified that no one knows the culprit of the Goldenglow job. You are both free to go… despite Mercer’s protests,” he mumbled the last part angrily. “Mercer will not be seeing you out, but he wanted me to tell you that if you ever need a favor from the Guild…”

“We won’t,” Bishop growled angrily, but Brynjolf seemed to understand that it was not directed at him.

He nodded in understanding and continued: “Your packs are at the cistern exit with all your belongings. Tonc is guarding them. You should leave right away.”

He moved to undo their restraints, freeing Aeyrin from her gag first, followed by a furious fit of coughing and gasping.

They followed him silently through the cistern, under his watch the entire time until they reached Tonilia with their packs.

“Thanks, Tonc,” Bishop grinned at her, not able to help himself but tease her.

“I will fucking drag you out of here by the balls, asshole!” she barked at him as both him and Brynjolf laughed, somewhat easing the tension. It did seem like an overreaction though…

“Ease up, Tonc, they’re under protection,” Brynjolf snickered as she shot him a nasty glare.

“You’re a dead man, you ginger fuck!” she walked away sternly.

“Never gets old,” Bishop chuckled.

“What is that about?” Aeyrin looked at them curiously. That woman seemed constantly on edge. Teasing her didn’t seem like the brightest idea…

“See, lass, her man, Vekel, called her that once in front of Rune and then he looked all embarrassed like he shouldn’t have. So everyone now calls her ‘Tonc’ until she or Vekel tell us why they got all jittery about it. It’s been going on for years. Her reactions are priceless,” Brynjolf explained with a clearly fond smile on his face, leading them back out of the cistern in a much lighter mood; even his weary face seemed to lighten somewhat.

There was an unexpected affection in his voice. Even the way he at times talked to Bishop and her… These people started to seem like a sort of a family.

With a tyrant father watching their every move from the shadows…

Who knew what the Guild could be like without his iron rule?

…

Aeyrin breathed out the fresh cold air deeply as they made their way outside.

It was so different from the stuffy dampness of the sewers. It has only been a little over a day since she’s been outside, but it felt like an eternity.

A moment later, the cold air started to seep into her, forcing her to remember that she still only wore the yellow dress – it was all dirty, both from her tumbling to the ground after absorbing the dragon’s soul and from spending the rest of her time wearing it only in a filthy sewer.

It was a shame in some ways. As uncomfortable as she was in it, she never really had anything so fancy on before. Washing it wouldn’t help either – the strap behind her neck was torn, painfully reminding her of Mercer destroying her cherished amulet.

She shivered from the cold, feeling Bishop rub his hands along her arms almost immediately and pulling her back to his chest.

“So, sweetness, now we can either get cleaned up at the inn, or just get the fuck out of this town already.”

She sighed; as much as she longed to leave Riften behind, a moderately clean inn and a soft bed were too tempting.

“I need a bath… and food… and a bed…”

Bishop chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and heading towards The Bee and Barb before she stopped him abruptly. 

“What?” he turned to her.

“We can’t go there like this!” she said with a bit of panic in her voice, as she looked over Bishop’s battered face, remembering that hers was probably even worse – she had nowhere to wash the blood and smeared make-up the entire time.

She approached him tentatively, lighting her hand in magic while she mustered the last bits of stamina to her hands. She ran her hands over his face gently, managing to heal at least his split lip and the cut on the side of his face. The bruises seemed more persistent and she sighed in frustration as she forced herself to try again.

“Stop,” he grabbed her wrists surprisingly gently, probably remembering how sore they were from the shackles. “You’re tired. Just leave it until we rest, it’s not serious anyways.”

He ran his hand over her cheek, lightly examining the surface scratches. “Yours are fine too. And who the fuck cares how we look? Do you not remember our last trip through the town? We were much worse for the wear.”

She smiled lightly, shivering again before he grabbed her more adamantly and led her towards the inn.

…

The water felt amazing as she finally scrubbed her skin of the grime. Sadly it couldn’t get rid of the unpleasant feeling from all that happened – the surprising worries about Raven’s fate, the guilt at not doing anything about Mercer’s stranglehold on Riften or the bitter taste in her mouth after participating at Mercer’s ‘party’.

She did manage to heal herself without further issues after relaxing a little in the bathing room at least.

Her regular clothes have finally dried by the fireplace and she set out to go get some proper food. She didn’t know what the meat that Ravyn force-fed her was but she never tasted anything like it – it seemed both greasy and dry at the same time and the odd shoe-sole taste still lingered in her mouth.

She tried to wash the dress too, not even sure why. It was a strange reminder of an unpleasant time, but whenever she looked at it, an involuntary smile spread on her face, remembering how crazy Bishop went over her in it.

It was not really salvageable though, the grime refused to get off the soft material and she discovered a lot of other rips and tears besides the neck strap.

She sighed, thinking that she likely won’t ever get an opportunity to wear something like that ever again – dragon slaying won’t always go with a party.

She did cut some clean parts out of it in the end – for ridiculously fancy washrags at least.

…

“Are you two done? I am running out of supplies for tonight, you know?” Keerava smirked as she went over their table to pick up another batch of empty plates.

The inn was packed that day, but the noise helped drown out any lingering thoughts on their stay in the sewers.

“So, princess, where to next?” Bishop gave a weak smile as he finished his tankard.

They were getting so tired, the relaxed atmosphere lulling them to early sleep.

“I… actually don’t know…” Aeyrin realized, she couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t constantly make plans in her head for the next step.

“Well then, I suggest we get lost in the wild and avoid any other people for at least a week,” Bishop smirked, his expression a bit wistful.

Aeyrin chuckled, wryly checking whether there was any mead left in her mug, when her hand brushed against a piece of parchment.

“What’s this?” she examined the neatly folded paper – it had no name on it but it was on their table.

How did it get there?

There were a lot of people around the inn, maybe someone slipped it there when they weren’t looking.

She unfolded the note tentatively.

_There’s no freedom without a price._

_I paid mine and hopefully you paid yours in full._

_Now it’s time for him to pay._

_I found someone who can help with just that._

_I will be in touch._

_R._


	40. Respite

_ Author’s note: _

_Shout-out to The Ta’agra Project for lovely Khajiit phrases._

_Also, more bad smut in this chapter :D_

_Enjoy_

* * *

“Strawberries… and grapes! How are there no grapes here?”

Aeyrin pouted as they made their way from the Rift towards the dry tundra of Eastmarch.

They slept and rested through the entirety of yesterday and set out early in the morning.

“You can get wine,” Bishop shrugged.

“Not wine! Grapes! Just grapes,” she responded with wistful sigh.

“There’s no vineyards. Grapes would rot on the journey. Wine’s easier to transport,” he explained with amusement at her expression.

“Yeah, it’s not like I’ve seen any wine either,” she shook her head in frustration.

“What the fuck are you talking about? There’s wine everywhere. You just don’t order it,” Bishop smirked at her, stumbling a little as Karnwyr started to circle playfully around his legs.

“That’s not wine! In Chorrol, we had fresh grapes and delicious wine every day imported straight from Skingrad,” she pouted again, remembering with a pang of guilt that she hasn’t written a letter to Master Therien ever since she entered Skyrim. He _did_ tell her to write whenever she felt like she had nowhere to turn to and that hasn’t really been the case with Bishop by her side, but she should let him know how she was doing anyways… maybe even tell him about the Dragonborn thing and get some guidance.

“What? Aren’t you supposed to ‘live soberly’ or some shit like that… not that you really exemplify that…” he laughed giving her a teasing wink.

“Hey! And it’s not about drinking anyways… it just means to be reasonable in your excesses… you know, no lavish halls filled with food and drink that just gets thrown away after you’re full. Only the priests and paladins take the vows to avoid drinking excessively. And besides, wine’s an exception in Chorrol,” she nodded resolutely.

“Why?” he narrowed his eyes at her.

“You know… because Stendarr… he has a wine cup for a symbol,” she gave him a feigned innocent smile as he burst into laughter.

Karnwyr suddenly started to look around nervously, smelling the air around them.

“What is it?” Bishop turned to him, looking instinctively to the sky – Karnwyr got this fidgety only around those damned beasts.

“Maybe he smelled it because of… that,” Aeyrin pointed to a low circular structure some distance away from the road – there was no mistaking it, it was one of the ancient dragon burial sites that Delphine told them about – just like the one near Kynesgrove where they encountered the black dragon resurrecting the other one.

“Question is, is it still under there or is it already alive?” Bishop grumbled, still scanning the skies occasionally while Karnwyr whimpered softly by his feet.

“You remember Delphine telling us they were resurrected in a pattern? The route went through the Rift and up to Kynesgrove, this is on that route. Besides, it looks kind of… too shallow to have a dragon inside,” Aeyrin pointed out nervously.

Why did she even think to get a moment’s peace after the ordeal in Riften?

Soon enough the familiar deep rumble sounded across the plains, coming from behind a small hill down the road.

Karnwyr ran in the opposite direction obediently at Bishop’s urging while they ran forward, a series of screams drowning out the dragon’s roar.

Just as they ran over the slope of the hill, they noticed the group of Khajiit – some of them ran away in panic while three more armored ones slashed at it with their weapons while it was biting at them on the ground and swinging its massive tail around to slam them away from it.

It was _on the ground_.

Perfect – she could attack it right away.

“WULD!”

Bishop watched her blink through the air as she stopped much further away from him, charging at the dragon.

He noticed the shocked expressions of the Khajiit in the distance as he pulled out his bow.

He let out a few arrows when she bashed the dragon’s wing, making it roar out in pain.

Good.

Better she prevents it from flying than trying to jump on its fucking neck again… that was nerve-wrecking. Did she even remember how high that thing soared with her clinging to its neck? If she hadn’t reacted so fast to prevent the damage from the fall… shit, no point thinking about it.

He aimed at its eye, careful to avoid the Khajiit as he still kept one eye at her.

He knew she could take care of herself with no trouble, but despite that, he found himself concentrating on her during the battle more and more.

Well… he _was_ supposed to watch her back, but it wasn’t just that… at times he even found himself distracted. He was supposed to watch her surroundings rather than staring at her swinging that mace into the beast as that long blond braid twirled around her, gleaming in the sun.

_Dammit, focus!_

The beast was being pummeled and stabbed continuously as he shot several more arrows into its head.

It wouldn’t take long now.

As it slowed its thrashing and started to wail wearily he crept closer to them, his bow still ready if anything happened.

As the light started to spread through the beast’s body he put back his weapon, noticing her looking around for him frantically.

He rushed towards her and she all but tackled him, hiding her face in his chest and trembling with anxiety.

He stroked her hair and clutched her to him as the light traveled to her and she screamed out a piercing shriek, her face pale, her lips blue and her whole body shivering.

Her skin turned unnaturally cold and he did his best to run his hands over her to warm her up a bit. He hated these moments, but he needed to hold her through it, not just for her, but for himself, to know that she was alive, breathing and that her heart was beating.

She called it once a struggle to survive.

He had no idea if she could actually really die from it, but he didn’t care to find out.

The Khajiit threw him questioning worried looks as they watched the scene.

He nodded in assurance, letting them know that she’ll be alright.

She had to be… he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

She slowly opened her eyes, spotting the three astonished Khajiit warriors staring at her with mouths ajar.

When they noticed her regain herself a bit, they rushed forward. She felt the clank of metal against her armor and warm fur enveloping her from all sides.

“The fuck…” she heard Bishop’s grumble but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You saved us!” the female warrior exclaimed, squeezing them tighter in the hug.

“Thank you! Kha'jay krimir iso jer!”

The Khajiit that ran away before slowly approached them.

“You’re so warm…” Aeyrin shivered in cold, focusing on the warmth of the bodies around her – especially the pleasantly soft and heated fur. Although, Bishop’s arms were not too shabby of a source of heat either…

After a little while they let up. The Khajiit started to scramble around, checking their large packs while still continuously mumbling words of thanks and praise.

“Akhari has presents for you, brave warriors. Kindness must be repaid,” one of the women smiled warmly, ushering Aeyrin to her and pulling out some healing potions, coins and trinkets, eagerly praising her gifts’ usefulness.

“R-really, we don’t need a reward. We couldn’t just let you in a bind like that,” Aeyrin smiled warmly while one of the warriors pulled Bishop eagerly aside.

“Ah, you are maybe interested in something more adventurous. Khajiit have many gifts for generous smooth-skins,” he inconspicuously pulled out a small parcel from his pack which Bishop recognized immediately.

“Fuck, put that away before she sees. That wouldn’t end well,” he grumbled quietly. He wasn’t sure how exactly she would react to their casual sugar trade. The Khajiit had it rough in Skyrim and this was one of the more lucrative things they had to offer to travelers, but he didn’t want to risk counting on her understanding – she _did_ get quite unpredictable around drugs.

The man gave him an uncertain look but he hid the packet again, shrugging noncommittally after a while.

“You will always be a welcome sight. May you walk on warm sands,” Bishop heard Akhari purr softly as the Khajiit started to gather their things and head back towards Riften.

Aeyrin looked much better now, but she still shivered with cold from time to time.

Now he wasn’t sure if it was from the dragon soul or from the Skyrim cold in general.

“Come on, I know just the place to make camp and thaw you out,” he winked at her with a mischievous smirk.

…

They set up their camp and kicked of their boots near the hot springs of Eastmarch on the dry crackled ground.

Right next to it was one of the smaller steaming sulfurous pools; the rocky outcroppings around of it were lined with low bramble of jazbay.

The sun was high in the sky signaling that nightfall was still several hours away. They did not intend to continue the journey that day though – a respite in the wild was sorely needed after all.

Bishop threw three pieces of venison on a rock by the fire and cut up some vegetables into a bowl while Aeyrin set up their bedroll.

Bishop’s lips quirked slightly, thinking how, ever since their night in Kynesgrove, she didn’t even bother to pull the second bedroll from her pack, even just for pretenses.

The wait has been frustrating, but he was grateful that she wasn’t opposed to furthering their explorations in the meantime. She always made it clear how far she was willing to go… though that didn’t stop him from trying for more from time to time. He couldn’t help it, especially whenever she was all flushed and disheveled from their antics.

The springs were a perfect place to take things further. Probably not all the way – he still needed to discuss some precautions with her but postponed it, suspecting that she would interpret it as being too pushy.

He _did_ figure she could use some release though… so much stress wasn’t healthy after all.

…

Soon enough the pleasant smell of venison attracted Karnwyr to their camp and they all dug into their food eagerly.

“Bishop, do you know what that meat that they fed us at the Guild was? It was… weird,” Aeyrin roused from her musings after a while.

“Skeever,” he shrugged noncommittally noticing her horrified expression after a while. “What? Never ate a rat back in Cyrodiil? It’s pretty much the same,” he smirked at her, watching her eyes go even wider.

“Of course not! Why would I eat a rat?” she gasped.

“Well, fuck I don’t know… weren’t you like starving until the temple took you in?” he scoffed.

“Well… yeah… but I didn’t eat rats. Where would I even cook them? I needed to hide my food. I usually stole… or took what inns and shops threw away,” she looked down with a blush, obviously ashamed of her ‘criminal’ days.

“So you ate thrown out food, likely all stale or even rotten, and you scoff at cooked meat?” he chuckled at her while she still looked down in embarrassment.

“Well… I guess that’s true… it’s just… they look so creepy…” she shivered lightly while he chuckled again.

After a little while he realized himself and moved towards the hot spring, fiddling with something under his feet.

He returned to her a moment later.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he smirked, all too aware of the implications.

“What?! No! What are you gonna do to me?!” she gasped but there was a strange twinkle in her eyes… was she intrigued?

“Don’t you trust me?” he gave her a sly wink while she still nervously eyed him.

“Normally yes… right now? Hmm…” she wrinkled her nose but sighed after a while, closing her eyes and opening her mouth very slightly.

He enjoyed the sight for a little while, the anticipation on her face and the deep crimson blush spreading all over her cheeks. It gave him so many ideas…

He placed several jazbay grapes on her tongue watching her reaction expectantly. She chewed a bit, a surprised look on her face when she opened her eyes.

“It’s not exactly from Skingrad vineyards but it’s the closest thing to grapes you can find here,” he smiled.

“It’s so good!” she exclaimed with excitement. “Are there more?!” she practically crawled towards the pool, not even taking the time to get up and she started to look through the bramble eagerly with Bishop laughing merrily behind her.

“Shit, I never thought they’re that good. Grapes are much better,” he shook his head.

“Maybe… but I haven’t had any fruit besides apples in ages!” she gave a bashful smile as she returned to the campfire with a hand full of the little dark blue grapes.

“Wait ‘til we get up north, snowberries are even better,” he smiled at her excited expression and moved to sit close to her, draping his arm around her as she popped the berries into her mouth several at a time.

“Yeah, but I’ll be freezing my ass off in the north,” she grumbled, finally finishing her ‘dessert’.

He chuckled again, leaning in closer and whispering in her ear in a low voice: “I’ll keep your ass warm.”

She laughed, punching him playfully in his upper arm, but nuzzled into his neck after a while.

“So, princess… I’m thinking we should test out that hot spring,” he rumbled in a rather sultry tone, making his intentions perfectly clear.

She blushed fiercely as if on command, biting into her lip nervously.

He never thought he could find bashfulness so attractive. Whenever she lowered those eyes and fidgeted nervously, he had trouble controlling himself. He _did_ know what that meant though – if she didn’t want to, she would have said it right away. He wondered at times if all that shyness was just an act, but she hardly seemed the type to play those kinds of games.

“T-test out how?” she stuttered lightly. It looked like she was waging an internal battle but he knew that was just because she thought she should – the battle was long over.

But it _was_ an opportunity to fluster her even further.

“Well for starters, we should clean up… really thoroughly,” he murmured into her ear, nibbling at her lobe from time to time. “Then we really need to release some of that tension from the battle,” he smirked as her blush spread almost to the tips of her ears.

“J-just… not… you know… everything…” she stammered nervously, avoiding meeting his eyes.

He chuckled: “I don’t think you can even image what ‘everything’ means to me.”

She groaned and buried her face in her hands in embarrassment, eliciting another laugh from him.

“Don’t worry princess. I know. No cocks in cunts, I promise.”

“Gods, Bishop!” she groaned again hiding her blushing face further. “You’re horrible!”

He roared in laughter before whispering in her ear again: “You should really do something to shut me up then.”

She quickly pressed her lips to his, deepening the kiss in a second.

Divines, he made her so flustered, but it gave her such warm excited feeling when he teased her.

She was a little nervous about being completely naked in front of him… no one has really ever seen her like that. But then again, she herself was rather curious… she already felt… a lot, but seeing him would likely be different. The sketches she studied for her healing magic were likely not sufficient replacement for real life.

She felt him drop his hands to the hem of her tunic rather quicker than she anticipated. He draped it over her head swiftly, his movements frantic and out of control already as he started to knead her breasts almost immediately, his tongue probing her mouth deeply.

Her back was getting cold but there was a pleasant warmth spreading everywhere he touched her as she found her breathing getting more labored under the assault of his ministrations.

She fought through the pleasant quiver inside her belly and moved her hands to remove his shirt, eager to trace the hard muscles of his body. It felt so nice when he flexed under her palms.

Biting her lip lightly when he moved his eager mouth to her breasts, she tentatively ran her hand over his trousers, touching lightly between his legs, tracing the growing bulge under the cloth.

He grunted and closed his teeth around her stiff nipple, making her yelp in surprise at the jolt that coursed through her body as his tongue started to flick over the hardened nub.

His hands moved downward too and she felt a tinge of disappointment when he passed straight to her thighs, avoiding her groin, the heat there only intensifying as she steadily felt herself getting wetter against her undergarments.

His thumbs rolled in circular motions on her inner thighs, at times brushing against her wetness lightly.

She let out a light moan when his lips moved to her neck, his teeth nipping at her and his mouth sucking in, leaving the mark on her neck again. It felt like it was in the same place as before. It was a bit odd, but pleasant at the same time and she rather enjoyed it… she did wonder why he kept doing that though, as it was really hard to hide when she wore her hair clasped or braided and she _did_ feel weirdly guilty about healing that mark.

He returned his attention to her breasts and started to fasten his mouth around her nipples and suck on them rather intensely, making her rake her hands into his back every time he nipped at them.

She still moved her hand around the bulge in his trousers as she felt him throb under the fabric at times, shifting his hips on the ground and trying to press more firmly into her touch.

He moved his hands to her back but, to her surprise, instead of groping at her further, he grasped her braid and pulled of the leather string binding it. He began to undo her braid gently then, suddenly stopping his ministrations and watching her intently, careful not to tug at her locks too painfully.

She stopped her movement for a second too, watching him with a rather baffled expression as he finally undid the hairdo and brushed her hair forward, letting it cascade down her shoulders and over her breasts.

The smile he gave her was so affectionate, but soon enough flickered with the familiar hunger and lust.

He moved his hands steadily to her trousers, undoing the fastenings in the front, making her blush furiously at his proximity again.

He didn’t move in to kiss her or to play with her breasts again, instead he watched her with intensity, ushering her to stand up while he remained seated on the ground, snaking his fingers below the hems of her trousers and undergarments at the same time.

His face was so close to her groin… was he really going to watch her this closely?

Gods, that was so much more scrutinous than she expected!

Her hands fidgeted, not sure whether she should cover herself the moment he would pull her clothes down. She instead resigned to bury her heated face in them again, determined to get through the bashfulness somehow.

She felt him lower the clothes, feeling the cold air on her hopelessly exposed body.

Her curiosity got the better of her too soon – she needed to see his expression… and to see what he would do to her.

She caught the glimpse of the intense lust in his eyes as he ran his hand gently over the five old faded scars on her left thigh. His gaze moved upwards instantly, watching her for a while before he planted a lingering kiss above the top of her slit, making her gasp loudly as another strong jolt coursed through her body at the contact immediately.

He stood up after the unfamiliar kiss, looking her straight in her eyes with a genuine smile as he caught her hands in his, moving them to the fastenings of his own trousers.

She undid them tentatively and pulled down carefully, her eyes fastened on his groin as her curiosity and excitement were winning steadily against her embarrassment. Her breath caught in her through a little as she looked at him… she already determined that he was bigger than she expected but seeing him like this and standing so close to her made her wonder worriedly and… strangely excitedly again about how exactly would their union be physically possible.

She was interrupted from her musings with a passionate deep kiss.

He parted from her a while later, giving her a satisfied smirk.

“Come,” his voice was so low and husky as he ushered her towards the pool.

The water only went up to her waist in the deepest part of the hot spring, the warming effect of the water not really doing anything unless she sank in.

Bishop didn’t really let her though, rather guiding her towards the edge where the warm water rose only up to her upper thighs leaving her all exposed.

He captured her in another deep kiss, nipping at her lower lip eagerly as his hands returned to her breasts and alternated between kneading them and pinching her nipples lightly.

She moved her hand slowly and hesitantly to his manhood, running it over his length as she did back in their cell in Riften. He groaned lightly against her mouth when she continued her movements slowly. His left hand leaving her breast and stroking over her stomach, lowering towards her wetness.

She flinched in surprise as he ran one of his fingers over the slit between her lower lips letting out a high-pitched gasp when he brushed over her, causing her body again to jolt with excitement, a searing heat spreading through her.

She felt herself getting wetter as he continued his movements, so absorbed in the new sensations that she forgot to continue her own ministrations, her hand falling away from his hardness as she placed it subconsciously on his forearm, feeling him move his hand over her.

He concentrated his lips on her ears as the movements between her legs got a bit faster, making her gasp out in between labored breaths.

After a while, she spread her legs a bit further apart instinctively when she felt his fingers move lower, one of them suddenly entering her, making her gasp out again at the unexpected intrusion, much louder than before.

He groaned against her ear in clear satisfaction as his finger moved and wiggled inside her, her walls clenching around it as she felt herself twitch, her heartbeat so palpable on every inch of her body.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he rumbled in a low voice again, making her blush furiously… well, she was blushing already, but that made her feel really flustered.

She kissed him quickly to make sure he didn’t say anything to frazzle her further… she could barely stand the new sensations as it was, her face burning intensely.

She felt as a second finger entered her, starting to make her feel rather full… oh Gods, seriously, how was she supposed to take _that_ in?

The feeling was so strange, in some way uncomfortable but in majority pleasant and exciting.

He started to move his fingers a bit deeper inside her, then moving them out a bit and back inside again.

His thumb moved to her slit, rubbing over the place that sent jolts through her body as his movements inside her quickened.

The buildup of pleasure was starting to get overwhelming as she gasped and moaned almost unconsciously, her hands merely clutching his arms, unable to move in any way.

She felt her whole body twitch and stiffen, a strange quiver coursing through her as his movements intensified again.

Her legs felt weak and heavy, her body stiffly still, save for the jolts and quivers inside her as his other hand kneaded her breast eagerly, squeezing and pinching to the rhythm of the thrusts of his fingers.

The buildup was getting too intense until suddenly it was like a lightning struck her, she moaned loudly, despite herself, as an intense warmth spread through her, a deep pulsating palpable inside her depths, her heart racing.

He stopped his movement as she caught her breath, her knees threatening to buckle under her.

It seemed to her to take a long time before she somewhat collected herself, her face still burning up. He stroked the inside of her a few more times before removing his fingers slowly, making her feel a tinge of disappointment at the sudden emptiness.

She dared to look up at him, his eyes still intense and full of hunger, his smirk looking rather self-pleased.

She moved closer to him to steady herself a bit, his still painfully hard manhood poking her stomach as she leaned in, making her remember her previous goal.

She gave him a bashful smile and returned her hand to close around his girth, but he shook his head lightly stroking her head with one hand, the other moving to her shoulder and rubbing over it for a while.

He pushed her down slightly and she instinctively lowered herself in the water down to her knees, submerged up to her stomach.

He bent his knees too, lowering himself so that his manhood aligned with her breasts. He rubbed them for a while, much more gently than she was used to, as he gave her a fond smile.

He moved a bit closer and started to rub himself against her soft mounds, holding his cock in one hand, rubbing its wet tip around her hard nipples.

She watched him quietly, somewhat mesmerized at how closely she could study him now.

Soon enough he moved his manhood between her breast, grabbing each of them in the palm of his hand and pressing them together, enveloping himself in her soft flesh. Her breasts were rather ample for a Wood Elf, fitting his hands perfectly and hiding a large part of him in between.

She looked up at him with anticipation, her cheeks, nose and ears all deep red.

He started to thrust against her, her breasts were pleasantly warm and wet from the sloshing water as the tip of his cock periodically popped out of the sheath, making her stare at his ministrations again.

He did notice her getting excited from this too, she gasped as he squeezed her breasts, his palms pressing into her nipples, her breathing getting a bit more labored again. She placed her hands on top of his, and it felt like she urged him to squeeze her more firmly.

His cock started to twitch more as he quickened the pace, now thrusting against her harder and faster, her gasp turning more high-pitched, her mouth temptingly open and breathing heavily.

He felt himself close, letting go of her breasts and withdrawing a bit, he started to stroke himself fast, his climax only a second away as she watched him in anticipation.

Much to his surprise, she put her hand around him at the last moment, both their hands squeezing his manhood firmly when he came, the warm fluid spraying over her heaving breasts in a few spurts.

She stared down at herself as he breathed deeply, steadying himself. She placed a hand on her chest, rubbing into the thick fluid gently, making him stare at her in hopeful anticipation.

Then, to his disappointment, as in realization, she quickly submerged her hands into the water, splashing it across her chest and cleaning herself up, blushing furiously.

She looked up at him with a shy smile, her eyes twinkling irresistibly.

He helped her up on her feet before washing himself off.

…

Nightfall came soon enough but they spent the remaining hours hopelessly entangled in each other in the bedroll, still roaming their hands everywhere, exploring each other again and again until they fell asleep exhausted.

They wandered around the dry tundra for four more days, occasionally exploring a cavern or slaying some giants and stocking up on mammoth meat.

To their dismay, they did find two more empty dragon burial sites, but no dragons around.

They enjoyed camping by the hot springs every one of those nights, always fully immersed in ‘cleaning each other thoroughly’.

Once they even got interrupted by two hunters with a similar idea, much to the distress of Aeyrin who nearly jumped out of her skin at strangers seeing them naked and entangled with each other.

Karnwyr also enjoyed their stay in Eastmarch, especially annoying giants too much for Bishop and Aeyrin’s liking, always running under their feet and biting into their toes to try and trip them, even when they didn’t seem interested in a battle.

When they arrived to the northernmost parts of the tundra, near Kynesgrove, Aeyrin asked about Windhelm, which towered in the distance.

Bishop warned her that she wouldn’t like the place and that the rebels might give them some trouble, but they needed some supplies anyways and eventually decided to make their way towards the oldest city in Skyrim.


	41. The True Nords

“Halt!”

The guards at the large metal gate made a step to block their path.

“Ugh. Again? Can’t we enter one fucking city without being harassed by these asshats? What?!” Bishop snapped, already angry.

Aeyrin winced at his remark, throwing him an admonishing look, but he knew why they were stopped. It was too obvious in this city; he’s seen it happen several times already.

“What is your business in Windhelm?” one of the guards barked, not really fazed by Bishop’s outburst, but eyeing Aeyrin with narrowed eyes.

“We’re getting supplies for the road and maybe resting up at an inn,” Aeyrin answered with a friendly tone in her voice, Bishop only rolling his eyes in anticipation of what’s to come.

“You can get your supplies elsewhere, knife-ear. This is the home of the true sons of Skyrim, we don’t tolerate any potential spies.”

Aeyrin’s friendly smile was gone in a second.

Well, Bishop _did_ warn her about the reception.

“I AM NOT A SPY!” she yelled with an uncharacteristic lack of tact and restraint, likely hearing this particular accusation one too many times.

“We are just adventurers. We need supplies for the road, that’s it. Is there some law against us entering?” she gritted her teeth, staring the guards down and trying to control herself.

They didn’t even mind the wolf following them, just the elf. Well, Karnwyr _could_ perhaps be confused for a large dog by someone of sufficiently lacking intelligence, but still.

“Just fucking let us in! We don’t give a shit about your war,” Bishop shook his head in frustration.

“No. We have enough trouble with elves as is, we don’t need any more,” the second guard said calmly, as if it were a normal thing to refuse entry to a city based on a race.

“Uuuhhh… hey, guys… maybe wait a bit… I think you might want to let them in…” a voice from the ramparts called out as another guard peered down.

“Why?” the first guard yelled angrily, while the one on the ramparts shuffled his feet nervously.

“For fuck’s sake,” the angry guard dashed towards a small wooden door behind him, emerging up on the ramparts and talking to the other one in a hushed tone.

“What?! No fucking way! How dare you even suggest that? That’s a Nord legend you’re insulting!” he yelled at the nervous guard, eliciting a groan from both Bishop and Aeyrin.

It was clear that some of the truthful rumors already made their way through Skyrim, but getting too much attention in Windhelm was likely a very bad thing for an elf.

“Hey you, tree-hugger, Shout!” the angry guard yelled down at her.

“Why?” Aeyrin snapped at him, her face frustrated.

“You know, just Shout!” he insisted.

Her face was for a brief second decorated with a mischievous smile before she complied: “Aaaahhhh!!!”

Bishop burst out laughing and Karnwyr started to look around for danger, alarmed, as the guards all stared at her dumbfounded.

“What? Not like that! Like a dragon!” the angry guard yelled at her, now sounding even angrier.

“Oh. Alright…” Aeyrin said with feigned hesitation before letting out another loud shout.

“ROOOAAR!!!!”

Bishop laughed again, almost hysterically, while Karnwyr ran around them, very confused.

The guards just looked annoyed.

“What did I tell you, fucking ice-brain,” the angry guard grumbled at the nervous one before getting back to the gate again.

“So… can we go in?” she gave them an amicable smile again

“No,” the calm guard repeated as she noticed Bishop look over the railing of the bridge at the docks below, surrounded by floating chunks of ice.

“I am _not_ swimming through that,” she hissed at him under her breath while he gave her a wry smile.

“Fine. Twenty?” Bishop sighed and turned to the guards. They scoffed at him derisively.

“Each?” he tried again as they shook their heads.

“Thirty…” his expression got bored at their stubbornness but finally there was some hint of interest in the calm guard.

“Fifty each,” he said resolutely as Bishop groaned but pulled out his coin purse.

“If you make any trouble whatsoever, little knife-ear, we’ll personally find you,” the angry guard narrowed his eyes at her threateningly as he opened the gate.

The cold dreary city spread before them.

Aeyrin looked curiously over the dark grey stone as far as the eye could see while rubbing her hands over her arms tentatively.

Even with Bishop’s cloak over her shoulders, it was freezing, but now she wasn’t sure if it was because of the weather or because of the chilling monochrome and depressing impression the city left on her.

“Hope you’re already thinking of how you’re gonna repay me for getting you in here,” Bishop leaned in close to her with a smirk, making her flush and chuckle lightly… it did warm her up a little bit.

“You can have my gold,” she giggled back at him.

“Pffft… you better think of something else,” he ran his hand quickly over her back, his thick cloak baring the contact more than he’d like.

“Well... I might need someone to warm me up later… you did say that the ‘real north’ was pretty bad, but this…” she shivered again, draping the cloak over herself firmly.

“This still isn’t the ‘real north’” he laughed as she groaned in desperation.

“Kill me now.”

…

Ignoring the myriad of hateful glares, they made their way to the marketplace, splitting up to gather supplies faster.

Karnwyr ran off, chasing after some birds and Bishop mentioned that he would go somewhere called the ‘Grey Quarter’ for cheaper supplies and that he would catch up later.

Aeyrin stayed at the central marketplace.

She spotted an Altmer at one of the stalls, walking over to her hurriedly, hopeful to get a little better reception than from the Nords around.

“Welcome. Peruse at your leisure,” the woman gave her a smile, still a little haughty but much preferable to the hateful glares.

A folded fur drew her attention – it was so white, like fresh snow.

“It’s a cloak, from a young snowy saber cat. Much better than that… rag you’re wearing,” the woman nodded proudly as Aeyrin examined the cloak. It was so warm and so soft. She did like wearing Bishop’s cloak, it smelled like him, but then again he might need it someday if he _ever_ gets cold.

“How much?” Aeyrin asked after a while.

“Two hundred,” the woman shrugged.

It was a lot, but she learned the hard way that people in Skyrim didn’t really like to haggle. It was practically a sport in Cyrodiil, but cultures differed. Bishop told her that most people here give out prices based on one’s first impression of a person.

That didn’t really play to her cards in this city.

The cloak was gorgeous though. She never owned anything so soft and expensive looking.

She paid the woman and stashed the cloak in her pack.

She headed over to the blacksmith a bit apprehensively since she noticed him eyeing her with suspicion earlier. Her bronze armor was starting to show some wear and tear though and she left her Companion armor back at Jorrvaskr to lighten her load. 

“Not selling to your kind,” the blacksmith barked immediately.

She sighed dejectedly and turned on her heel, it was probably not a good idea to start something here.

Who knows what that Ulfric person would want to do to her if she gave the citizens trouble? The last time he wanted her killed just because she was an elf.

Looking over the market she spotted an apothecary.

Perfect, she could finally get the supplies she needed without Bishop around.

…

“Master, you're far too old for this sort of journey. We don't know what's inside..."

She heard a voice call out in frustration as she entered.

An Imperial man was shaking his head at a much older Altmer.

"I'll... I can... just..." the Altmer stammer, the weariness palpable in his voice.

"You see, you're not well! Have a seat and I'll fetch you some tonic," the Imperial started fidgeting around, looking over the vials behind the counter.

"Bah... If there was… a tonic that could help me, I… I would have found it by now..." the Altmer grumbled, sitting himself shakily in a rickety chair.

“Umm… hello,” Aeyrin waved her hand bashfully as the men turned to her.

“Don’t mind us… girl. Just a man’s… life work at stake is all,” the Altmer sighed sadly, piquing her curiosity. His tired wheezing seemed to be calming down gradually after he drank the tonic offered by his apprentice.

“Life work?” she smiled encouragingly at the old man.

“I've finally derived the location of the White Phial, but this doting busybody won't let me get it,” he almost exclaimed but his tired voice didn’t allow for much volume.

“Master, you are too old to go through old ruins and…”

“Ruins? I can go through ruins for you,” Aeyrin interrupted the Imperial perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. It’s been a long time since they explored something really ancient. And perhaps she could learn a new Shout. She didn’t practice much again, only once during their stay in the tundra, since she was… otherwise occupied.

“Umm… miss, it’s an ancient Nordic barrow… crawling with Daedra know what…” the Imperial sighed while the old Altmer’s eyes twinkled a bit hopefully.

“Yes, I’m an adventurer. I explored several of these ruins already,” she smiled at them again as the Altmer stood up from his chair surprisingly energetically.

“Finally, someone daring enough to ignore Quintus’ doomsaying. Now listen, girl. It's buried with its maker, Curalmil, in a long forsaken cave to the west of here. Curalmil was a crafty one, even in death. You would need the skills of a master alchemist to reach his secret resting place. Luckily for you, I've already made the mixture.”

The Altmer walked towards the counter shakily but the Imperial stopped him: “Master, please go lie down. I will give her the location and the mixture.”

The Altmer mumbled something about hoping he won’t confuse the potions, but made his way slowly towards a set of stairs instead.

Quintus showed Aeyrin the location of the cave on her map rather reluctantly and then passed her a bottle with a strangely colored liquid – a dizzying display of swirling green, blue and yellow.

“Now, did you also need to buy something?” Quintus asked.

She almost forgot.

“Oh! Yes. I need some ingredients. Some ginkgo leaf, some lavender and water hyacinth nectar,” she blushed a little, certain that an alchemist would figure out what she needed it for.

He stared at her for a while, making her even more uncomfortable before he gave her a pondering expression: “I have lavender. We don’t really carry the rest… those don’t grow in Skyrim.”

“Oh,” she sighed dejectedly. She knew the recipe back from the temple, they mixed it to give out to the poor who couldn’t afford to buy contraceptives at apothecaries and they certainly couldn’t afford to care for a child.

At that moment, the door opened and her eyes widened for a bit as Bishop walked in, probably looking for her around the shops.

“Welcome, I’ll be with you in a moment. Now, miss, if you would tell me what you are planning to mix, I could find some suitable replacement ingredients,” Quintus nodded at Bishop before turning back to her.

“Uhh… N-nothing … don’t worry about it,” she stammered, her face flushed again.

“You’re trying your hand at alchemy? That’s gonna be a disaster,” Bishop laughed, standing in a way that infuriatingly blocked the door and waited for their interaction to conclude.

“I… it doesn’t matter. I don’t really…” she stammered again.

“Just tell me what potion you wish to create, miss. Maybe I even have an alternate recipe altogether. Lavender has strong effect on magic. Do you need something to enhance magical abilities?” he pondered again, obviously too intrigued by the conundrum to let it slide.

“No, really, I don’t need anything!” she almost exclaimed as she grabbed Bishop by the wrist, intent on dragging him away.

He didn’t budge, eyeing her flushed face for a bit with suspicion before an amused smirk spread across his face.

Oh Gods, did he figure it out?

Now he would definitely take that as an invitation.

She hated that smirk so much just then.

“Just get her some canis root tincture,” Bishop nodded at Quintus, the annoying smile still plastered on his face.

“Oh. Heh. Right. Of course,” the alchemist chuckled a bit, pulling out several bottles readily. “Fifty, please.”

Aeyrin hurriedly paid the man, stashing the bottles in her pack, avoiding eye contact as much as possible and slipping by Bishop quickly out of the door.

“That was pretty cheap. You must have made an impression,” he laughed as he followed her out.

She spun on her heel, finally daring to look up at him: “First of all, I hate you so much right now! Second, We are _not_ talking about this!”

She quickly turned away again as his laughter still echoed behind her.

…

Bishop took her through the rest of the city, but the monotonous grey stone didn’t really provide many sightseeing opportunities.

The only different part was the Grey Quarter where Dunmer immigrants lived in squalor. It was, however, rather charmingly decorated with colorful lanterns and banners, making it a bit livelier than the rest of the city.

They passed a young beggar girl selling flowers by the gate to the docks, whom Aeyrin promptly shoved a much larger coin purse than necessary for all the flowers.

The girl was really interested in Karnwyr and played with him for some time.

It was lucky he was so civil around strangers – he was still a wolf after all.

Eventually, they were stopped on their way to the inn by a middle-aged Imperial, greeting them eagerly.

“Travelers! It is always a pleasure to see new faces in Windhelm. Come, there’s nothing more interesting to see here than my House of Curiosities!” he gestured towards a nearby building looking exactly like all the other houses, save for the beat-up wooden sign above the door.

“What’s a House of Curiosities?” Aeyrin took the bait immediately as Bishop groaned behind her. He would have much rather gone straight to the inn.

“You see, my sister and I inherited a modest sum of money. We decided to travel and seek out whatever adventures we could find. As we journeyed across Tamriel, we encountered tales of exotic and wondrous artifacts. We decided to collect as many as we could. Now I am displaying them for curious citizens and travelers alike. For mere five gold, I can give you a tour,” the Imperial explained with a kind smile on his face.

“Oooh! Artifacts! We’ll take the tour,” Aeyrin clasped her hands together, eliciting another groan from Bishop.

Like this guy would have any artifacts worth mentioning... It was likely just junk. But it was pretty cute how excited she got about every stupid thing… fuck, he wanted to drag her to the inn and lock them in a room for the rest of the day and night immediately.

They left Karnwyr outside and went through the very uneventful tour while the Imperial made up stupid stories about completely ordinary items… like forks and flutes.

What kind of idiocy was that?

“So… if it’s empty, I either have no destiny, or I’ll die soon,” Aeyrin stared at the pages of the empty book with curiosity. It was apparent that she didn’t believe the man, but still asked about his ‘curiosities’.

He had a strangely eager smile before answering… he was probably taking some sick interest in people fawning over his shit.

“I am afraid so… you look like a warrior with all that equipment and your… physique. Many of those are sadly taken away at their prime,” he gave her a slow lingering look. It was nothing new, but it was still annoying every time someone decided to leer at her, barely containing their drool in their mouths.

“What do _you_ see in the book, Calixto?” she smiled at him curiously.

He pondered for a while, likely making something up.

“That I will soon reunite with my beloved sister again,” he gave a gentle and sad smile before continuing.

“Well, dear travelers, that concludes our tour. Feel free to look around some more. And I hope you plan on staying in Windhelm for some time. We can always use some new… energy here.”

They finally left the old house and made their way to Candlehearth hall.

…

 _Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.  
I tell you, I tell you, the _ _Dragonborn_ _comes.  
With a _ _Voice_ _wielding power of the ancient Nord_ _art.  
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.  
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.  
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.  
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.  
You'll know, You'll know the Dragonborn's come._

“Oh Gods! What was that?!” Aeyrin yelped out as the words of the bard’s song sunk in.

She turned red again, hiding her face desperately and peeking at the people around to see whether someone noticed her.

“Typical. Nords love singing about their legends and heroes. It was only a matter of time,” Bishop shrugged. “Relax, no one knows it’s you,” he chuckled at her panicked expression.

“I hope so… who even comes up with that? ‘Dragonborn comes’…. pfft,” she shook her head.

“Maybe someone heard you back at the tundra,” he gave her an insolent grin, earning a bread roll thrown straight at his face.

“You’re horrible! They’re gonna be singing that everywhere! I can’t un-hear it!” she buried her burning face in her hands with a groan as he laughed out, downing the rest of his mead.

“Well… maybe we should give them some new fodder for songs,” he leaned in closer, but she pushed him away immediately with a nervous chuckle, her face still beet-red.

Why did he insist on teasing her in all these public places, it was so embarrassing.

“Hey, you!” suddenly a burly drunken Nord staggered over to their table, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Y-you! Get the fuck out! This is _OUR_ city! Fucking knife-ears!” he wobbled a bit on his feet, but still stood in front of them in determination.

Aeyrin sighed, the constant glares and attacks by the Nords somewhat starting to get to her.

“Just… please leave me alone,” she responded calmly, pointedly ignoring the man afterwards.

“Hey! You do-don’t brush me off, little… shit! Come outside! I’ll teach you manners!”

Bishop’s eyes narrowed at him but she quickly gave him a pointed shake of her head, signaling that he shouldn’t engage the man.

“Rolff, please stop bothering the woman! She’s not doing anything,” a young blond Nord girl came to the table with a broom in her hands, sweeping a few times in front of the burly man, as if trying to chase him away.

She looked over at Aeyrin with a kind, sympathetic smile, then over at Bishop with a bit of a startled realization, before muttering with a wry smile: “Oh, it’s you. Hi again.”

Bishop nodded only curtly, not really acknowledging her presence all that much, still staring down the drunken Nord, who now watched the broom before him strangely mesmerized.

“You… know each other?” Aeyrin asked, blush returning to her face slightly, since she suspected she already knew the answer to that – the woman was very pretty and it did seem in the past that most of Bishop’s previous ‘acquaintances’ were around taverns.

“Not all that much,” the girl gave a little nervous smile, but it wasn’t as if Aeyrin had any reason to be upset. It was somewhat uncomfortable though, she didn’t like thinking about his past with other women, it made her feel strange – both somewhat insecure about her own inexperience and a bit… territorial?

The girl seemed to sense the mild tension and excused herself promptly, beckoning Rolff to follow her back to the bar.

He did not though, swaying on his feet, he still glared at Aeyrin hatefully.

“Come outside, elf!” he rumbled again, taking a step forward.

“No. Leave me alone,” she hissed through her gritted teeth but tried to calm herself.

The man was drunk; she should be the cooler head to prevail.

Suddenly he grabbed with his hand, grasping her ear painfully and pulling at it to drag her from her seat.

She yelped out in the unexpected singe of pain before managing to recoil away from his grip.

Before she could react Bishop shot up from his seat, his fist hitting Rolff square in the nose, sending him staggering back into an adjacent table.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” he spat at him venomously as the Nord got up from his feet with strange vigor, given his state.

He charged at Bishop immediately, grappling his midsection and sending them both flying to the floor.

“Bishop!” Aeyrin realized herself and got up to her feet, the two men were wrestling on the floor, throwing random punches at each other.

She quickly grabbed the collar of Rolff’s tunic behind his neck and managed to tug him away from Bishop, since he didn’t expect her approach.

He outstretched his arm in clear intention to turn a punch against her but she was faster… and more sober. She kicked him straight in his stomach, sending him tumbling back from her and doubling over.

That was a sure way to get rid of a drunk.

He fell to the floor and started to retch and heave, holding his stomach with both hands.

Bishop got to his feet in the meantime, looking somewhat eager to go over the downed man and maybe kick him again, but Aeyrin gripped his wrist firmly, sensing his intentions.

“By the Nine, are you alright?” the blond Nord girl ran over to them and worriedly looked them over.

“You! Elf! What do you think you’re doing?!” the old innkeeper rushed to them to the upper floor, setting her hateful eyes on her immediately.

“Elda! It wasn’t her fault, Rolff attacked her! You know how he is…” the blond girl stood up in front of Aeyrin somewhat surprisingly protectively, making her feel even worse for being uncomfortable around that woman before.

“I don’t care who started it, girl! I won’t have elves making trouble in my inn!” the old innkeeper yelled again.

“Elda!” the girl gave her an outraged expression but the woman was not moved.

“I don’t want to hear it girl!” she turned on her heel and walked back down to the bar.

“I… I’m sorry,” the girl sighed. “I’ll talk to her, but she needs to cool off. So does Rolff. You can come back tomorrow, I’ll handle it, I promise,” she gave them an encouraging nod, her eyes still twitching around a bit nervously as she looked at Bishop.

“Thank you… really,” Aeyrin gave her a warm smile, she never expected someone let alone a Nord to stand up for her like that here. It was disheartening, how, with her experiences in the northern province, her outlook on human nature became more jaded.

“But… where are we gonna go?” she shivered a bit, thinking about camping out in the snow.

“There’s a cornerclub in the Grey Quarter. We can sleep there,” Bishop assured her, giving the blond Nord a nod in acknowledgement of her help.

“It’s not as nice as this place, but… definitely more welcoming,” the girl smiled weakly, before turning towards the drunkard still wailing on the floor.

…

Karnwyr raised himself from the steps outside curiously as they exited Candlehearth Hall, following them eagerly in hopes of some nighttime excitement.

They headed towards the Grey Quarter right away, making their way through the dark streets late at night.

“So… who was the girl?” Aeyrin grinned at him teasingly, but she worried that some of the less composed feelings would be betrayed by her expression.

“A barmaid,” Bishop snorted, purposefully leaving her hanging.

“What’s her name?” Aeyrin continued, surprisingly eliciting a frown from him.

“No idea.”

“Oh.”

Did he not remember? Maybe it was a long time ago. Or maybe… how many women actually were there?

Bishop sighed at her conflicted expression.

“Do you wanna discuss this again? It was one night, almost two years ago. She didn’t even tell me her name and it’s not like I cared.”

It was strange to her how casual and meaningless such encounters could be to him. She couldn’t imagine it.

“She seemed nice…” Aeyrin mumbled, curious whether the girl felt the same, whether it didn’t matter to her either.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly interested in her personality and she wasn’t interested in mine,” he sounded annoyed.

Maybe she really was making too much of this. Maybe her sheltered upbringing really had an impact on how she viewed these things.

And it wasn’t as if there was anything to be upset about.

Then why did she still feel so strange?

…

They left the very disappointed wolf outside as they entered the cornerclub and she looked around.

It was exactly like the Grey Quarter – haggard and run down, but at the same time colorful and lively.

There were many Dunmer sitting at the tables and laughing.

Surprisingly enough, some of them gave Bishop suspicious looks, but weren’t at all fazed by Aeyrin’s presence. It was kind of refreshing.

“Welcome to the New Gnisis Cornerclub, friends. What’ll it be?” the innkeeper gave them a warm smile.

“A room. And is that actually sujamma behind you?” Bishop peered at the beautifully decorated yellow ceramic bottles on a shelf behind the bartender.

“Hah! A snowberry who’s heard of sujamma! Imported from Solstheim. Thirty a bottle, sedura,” the elf looked Bishop over as if appraising how much he could afford.

Bishop nodded with a satisfied smile on his lips: “Deal. You’re in for a treat, princess.”


	42. Hla-Aka

“You can’t handle one more, n’wah.”

Ambarys laughed heartily and slapped Bishop on the back amicably.

Aeyrin refused to try to keep up with him after they finished the first bottle of sujamma, feeling herself almost toppling over even while sitting still.

Bishop didn’t look so fazed but insisted on buying another bottle. Now, not only half-way through that one he was certain he will manage to finish three whole bottles that evening and remain standing. The effects of alcohol on him, however, steadily seemed to disagree with that goal.

“I wi- I _so_ can. You don’t even know…” Bishop waved his arm dismissively at the innkeeper.

“Finish this one first then,” Ambarys laughed again. The mood in the cornerclub has been lively and merry for a long time, the evening passing along the gradually increasing stupor of all the patrons.

The Dunmer were happily drunk, but surprisingly more articulate than their visitors and apparently they greatly enjoyed a sight of a Nord getting plastered from their drinks.

Aeyrin entertained them for a while with songs she learned from some of the Dark Elves in Cheydinhal, but soon enough her own state prevented her from even managing to hold up her lute properly.

She only had half a bottle, how could Bishop still be somewhat lucid after twice as much?

“Hey, f’lah, you should get ‘im some flin instead. Then we’ll see what a snowberry can handle,” Revyn Sadri, a proprietor of a nearby store, laughed from the other side of the room.

It seemed like the entire quarter was there at night and Aeyrin wondered if it was a regular occurrence or if they made a commotion.

“H-hey, Amab-Amba…” she grabbed Ambarys’s sleeve before he left their table, wobbling a bit on her chair.

It wasn’t as if she would fall off, Bishop was getting way too handsy in his state and his arm was curled constantly around her stomach while the other kept travelling across her back or in her hair whenever it wasn’t busy holding his tankard. She wasn’t really in any disposition to be concerned about them being in public anymore, his hands were too warm and she would have fallen off her chair long time ago if he wasn’t holding her.

“Ambarys, dear,” the innkeeper chuckled at her stuttering.

“Y-yeah… Ama-byrys… you keep sa-saying the words… the Dun-Dunmer words… do you know the… the language? Ah!” she yelped out suddenly as she felt Bishop bite at the tip of her ear, followed by a cheeky chuckle.

Ambarys snickered again at their antics, before answering. “It’s not really a language anymore I guess. No one speaks it, just a few words and phrases. Nchow, most is stolen from the Altmer anyways,” he laughed, eyeing Bishop for a while with a smirk as he kept rather clumsily biting and kissing at her ear or the back of her neck.

“N’wah, if you don’t concentrate your mouth on drinking, you won’t even finish this bottle.”

Bishop seemed to realize himself and turned his attention back to the bottle, his hand however continued to tease her, now sliding under her tight tunic stroking over her bare back.

“Right! Three… three bottles! And I want… a reward!” Bishop exclaimed as he turned the bottle of sujamma bottoms up, not even bothering with tankard anymore.

“We’ll talk about _that_ after you finish that one,” Ambarys laughed again, watching him drink sloppily, spilling some of the liquor on himself.

“H-hey…” Aeyrin was still tugging at the laughing innkeeper’s sleeve as he turned her attention back to her.

“What’s ‘halaka’? No… ‘hala’… no… ‘hla-aka’!” she racked her brain, the memories of the creepy Dunmer mercifully blurry.

“’Hla-aka’? It means ‘little dragon’,” Ambarys pondered a while.

“Are there even any ‘little’ dragons? Where’d you hear that?” Idesa, Revyn Sadri’s sister, laughed, borrowing Aeyrin’s lute for a while and attempting to play a tune… rather ineptly.

“Th-that evil Du-Dunmer… called me that…” Aeyrin pouted a bit, not really sure if she was disturbed by the nickname, or relieved it wasn’t something worse.

“Fuckin’ creepy… Ra-Ravyn! Gonna kill him ne-next time! Gonna… gonna be real slow…” Bishop exclaimed, pressing her closer to him protectively, then returning to his battle with the bottle of sujamma.

“Hah! Gotta be a fiery woman to be called a ‘dragon’. Hey, ‘hla-aka’, wanna leave the drunken snowberry for me?” another patron, Malthyr, winked at her suggestively.

She let out a little laugh but was soon interrupted by Bishop grabbing her around her waist with surprising deftness and sitting her firmly on his lap.

“No! Mine!” he practically growled, but his eyes were still merry, he forgot the bottle for a while again, instead fastening his lips on her possessively, the strong taste of hard liquor overwhelming her senses as his tongue probed her mouth rather forcefully, his hands gripping her backside firmly, moving her closer into his chest.

“Guess, he’s done drinking,” Ambarys laughed.

“No!” Bishop untangled his mouth from her and growled again, disturbingly enough, with almost the same possessive tone in his voice.

He grabbed the bottle once more, now spilling the excess on Aeyrin rather than himself, as she tried to steady herself on his lap by holding onto his neck.

“Hey, ‘hla-aka’, I heard the Nords grumble about some rumors…” Idesa suddenly took her eyes from the lute, eyeing Aeyrin curiously.

“You mean those about their precious Dragonborn being an elf? I think someone just made it up to piss the snowberries off, Ides,” her brother snickered, waving his hand dismissively.

“I don’t know… someone called her ‘little dragon’, she goes to this city voluntarily and she’s got all that fancy adventuring shit… you don’t see many elves here doing that well,” Idesa still pondered, her eyes narrowed, looking over Aeyrin’s pack on the ground with a fastened bronze shield and the handle of her mace peeking out.

“Well… not unless they’re sleeping with the Nords,” Malthyr laughed as Aeyrin tried to hide in Bishop’s chest from Idesa’s insinuations.

“Hmm… come on, ‘hla-aka’, you can tell us,” Revyn started to consider his sister’s words, now eyeing Aeyrin with curiosity too.

She only shook her head vehemently, still buried in Bishop’s chest.

“Done!” Bishop exclaimed suddenly, throwing the empty bottle across the room and shattering the beautiful clay pottery all over the floor.

“Fuck, n’wah! I refill those! You’ll be paying for that!” Ambarys smacked the back of his head, but this time Bishop only managed an unidentifiable mutter.

“Don’t change the subject! We wanna know!” Idesa threw a glare at the innkeeper then fastened her eyes back on Aeyrin.

At that point, Bishop started to wobble in his chair, trying to steady himself and the girl on his lap clumsily.

“I think it’s time to get them both to bed. One and a half bottles for the snowberry though. Good effort,” Ambarys smirked, nodding over at Malthyr to help him get them to a bed.

“You take the Nord, I’ll carry ‘hla-aka’,” he chuckled as he rushed to them.

“I… can walk!” Aeyrin stumbled a bit but steadied herself somewhat before he reached her, Bishop already falling over Ambarys with his weight.

…

He didn’t remember the last time he woke up this hungover.

The dry-mouth was kind of excruciating and the sun beams escaping through the broken thatching on the roof burned his eyes unpleasantly.

The cold was nice though, and he did wake up with Aeyrin nestled into him firmly, his hands snaked around her stomach and chest under her tunic, stretching the tight fabric to the limit.

She let out a little whimper when he squeezed her to him, stroking her skin to wake her up.

“C-c-cold,” she shivered, opening her eyes tentatively.

“Wh-where’s the roof?” her black eyes looked up, still half-lidded and weary.

Bishop chuckled against her hair.

He removed his hands after a while, noting her disappointed look as she hugged her own arms around herself, her tunic now more baggy and stretched.

He managed to drag himself out of the rickety bed and reach for his pack, pulling out one of the filled waterskins and drinking almost the whole thing in one go.

He looked back over at her as she sighed, examining the side of her tunic, now visibly torn at the seam almost up to her chest.

“Sorry,” he smirked lightly, not really regretting any wandering his hands undertook last night.

She pulled out his cloak from the pack and wrapped herself with it, giving him an admonishing look.

They made their way down back to the bar, where they found only the bored innkeeper, munching on some dried meat.

“Hey! You’re finally up. It’s past midday,” he grinned.

They shrugged their shoulders – it wasn’t as if they had somewhere to be.

“Good show last night, n’wah,” Ambarys smirked at Bishop. “And hla-aka, I am really sorry.”

Aeyrin cringed a bit at hearing the nickname again. She didn’t really care in her stupor, but now it reminded her of that awful elf in the sewers.

“What are you sorry about?” she realized what Ambarys actually said a moment later.

“Oh, well… you know… there were a lot of people here last night… and Idesa said all those things… well rumors get out of hand,” the innkeeper rubbed the back of his head nervously.

Gods, that could only mean one thing. Now everyone would be whispering that she is the Dragonborn.

Hopefully the rumor would only be contained among the elves, but it seemed unlikely.

That stupid nickname was to blame.

…

True to their fears, the murmurs of the citizens they passed were all too conspicuous.

Some of those that threw her hateful glares the previous day now turned pleasant, some fearful, some even more hateful.

Aeyrin did her best to ignore everyone and Karnwyr seemed more alert than usual while Bishop threw nasty glares back readily, at times even looking like he enjoyed himself.

He was probably just relieved that he could let his true opinions of people be known, without it being antagonistic for no reason.

“I need new clothes. Now they’ll probably be even more expensive,” Aeyrin sighed as they stopped at the city gates.

They got back to the market, heading towards the peddlers at the stalls when a large Nord in a black apron stopped them.

“Ah, Dragonborn. I was hoping you would come around the market. I’m sure a warrior such as yourself needs the best quality weapons and armor. Come, look at my merchandise.”

Aeyrin blinked at him a few times, a crease forming between her brows.

“I was here yesterday. You said you don’t sell to ‘my kind’,” she folded her arms across her chest, remembering her ripped shirt after a while and returning her hands to Bishop’s cloak to hide herself subtly.

“Ah… you… remember that? Well… ehm… you see… I didn’t know who you were…” he rubbed the back of his head, a rather unexpected blush spreading under his thick beard.

“I did not stop being an elf either. Do you suddenly sell to ‘my kind’?” she asked angrily.

She _did_ need new armor and possibly weapon and shield, but she was so tired from their attitude. She didn’t want to need to be the Dragonborn for people to treat her with decency. It was no better than their hatred and contempt, at least those were honest.

“I… uh… you see… tensions have been high here… there’s a lot of bad blood. I… apologize,” he lowered his eyes… it actually sounded sincere.

Well, Bishop would definitely call her naive for thinking that, but what else could she ask him for at that point. Dragging this out would be pointless.

She sighed in resignation and followed him towards the forge: “I just need to buy some materials; I’d like to forge my equipment myself.”

“What? You’re gonna be spending all day here? What am I supposed to do?” Bishop grumbled.

“I don’t know, nurse your hangover by showing your head in the snow?” she chuckled at him. “Or keep me company. Or go buy something,” she shrugged as she moved to the smelter to see what materials the smith had available.

“Alright, I’ll go get you some new clothes.”

She nodded absentmindedly before realizing what he said.

“Wait what?!”

He was already halfway gone when she called out to him.

That was gonna be really bad. How would he even know what would fit her… well, he _would_ probably know… but it was definitely going to be something revealing. Divines… it was gonna be awful.

…

The prices set by the blacksmith weren’t as bad as she expected, but she still couldn’t afford the materials for equipment made entirely from ebony, as he suggested.

She settled on a much cheaper alloy which the smith called simply ‘Nordic’.

He said there were traditional carvings which were customarily used for that metal and he even offered to show her how to do them with his special molds.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to wear something that was so… Nordic, she thought some people might even take it as an insult coming from her. Then again, she had the opportunity to learn something new about smithing techniques and she should not squander it.

Seeking new knowledge was after all an important part of her teachings.

Bishop returned to her after some time, but when she warily asked to see what he bought he just grinned at her and insisted that he’ll show her back at the inn.

Hopefully, the barmaid would really smooth things out with the innkeeper. The cornerclub was amazingly welcoming but it wasn’t so great for sleeping… and probably eating… and also drinking.

She wasn’t sure that Bishop could resist that sujamma… he seemed obsessed with it.

It took hours before she was done, more so with Bishop constantly hovering around her, pawing at her whenever he felt like she could spare a while.

This time, luckily, she had the good reason to write down her measurement – she still felt strange around the blacksmith, no matter his sudden friendliness, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of him for some reason.

Maybe it was because he suddenly saw her as the ‘mighty Dragonborn’.

Was she just playing into this role?

It was disturbing.

She didn’t want to be judged by it and yet she still feared what people would think… of the Dragonborn messing up simple measurement, or of the Dragonborn being an elf.

It shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did.

Finally the equipment was ready and it surprised even her, how beautiful it looked with the silvery glints and the elaborate carvings.

She had the smith make her a new dark grey under-chain which would now be decorated by light-silver armor with occasional black carving, along with matching mace and small shield.

Her new cloak would also look amazing with that.

It was armor, it was more important that it’d be functional and sturdy but she couldn’t help but be overjoyed at how beautiful it turned out. 

…

They made their way back to the inn, leaving Karnwyr resting on the steps outside.

The old innkeeper only nodded at them gruffly but luckily didn’t chase them away.

Aeyrin ushered Bishop into their room immediately, eager to get out of the torn clothes and still sorely wary at what he had bought for her.

“Out with it, then,” she eyed him suspiciously, tapping her foot impatiently.

He chuckled but instead laid his pack on the floor stepping close to her.

“Not so fast, ladyship… first, I need to do something,” he stopped only a hair’s breadth away from her, unclasping his old cloak from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, then running his hand through the ripped fabric of her tunic across the exposed skin of her flank.

She shivered at the contact, but still stubbornly eyed him with a wary expression.

“First, I need to tear these old rags off of you,” he leaned close to her ear and whispered, his hand still caressing her side.

That sounded… exciting.

“N-no way! Who knows what you bought! Then I’ll have nothing to wear!” she protested, but she was already all too aware of the blush spreading on her face, her heartbeat faster than before.

“Hmm… I’m willing to risk that,” he chuckled with a low voice as he nipped at her ear, making her mewl involuntarily.

Dammit, he knew exactly how to undo her fast.

Before she met him, she never really thought of her ears as sensitive, but every time he got near to them, her whole body threatened to burst into flames.

He took that as an encouragement and brought her into a rough kiss, the intensity of his movements shifting immediately, as his gentle caressing turned into hungry pawing and groping.

She gasped for breath under his sudden assault, letting herself get lost in the whirlwind fast, returning his advances by desperately grappling at his hair and the fabric on his back.

She felt his hands move to her tunic and tugging firmly, the sound of ripping cloth only accompanied by the sounds of their frantic kissing and heavy breathing.

He continued his attack on the fabric, as piece by piece the ruined shirt fell to the ground. His mouth moved down on her neck, first, again roughly renewing the familiar mark.

She needed to ask him about it… he was strangely fixated on that. But she was not going to disturb the moment with frivolous questions.

His lips then traveled down to her breasts in eager nips, his hands grasping at her leather trousers immediately.

He tugged roughly a few times, jerking her whole body sharply.

Finally the worn and weathered seams gave way a little. He pushed on her upper arms eagerly, making them both tumble on the bed, pinning her underneath him.

His hands went back to her trousers as she moaned under his mouth sucking hard on her nipple.

He yanked one more time, making her jump out in a start as the fabric came loose from the seams, effectively baring her underwear and legs, the two formerly joined pieces of cloth now dangling from under the tops of her boots.

He slid down her panties and put his fingers to work immediately, as she quickly placed her hand over her mouth, muffling her moans.

He noted right away just how much she enjoyed the somewhat rough treatment and quickened his ministrations.

He didn’t have to wait long for her to cry out against her hand and arch her back sharply, the tell-tale clenching of her walls on his fingers eased his rushed movements as he moved her hand from her mouth gently, giving her a slow deep kiss.

…

“So… the clothes?” she looked at him with a wry smile as he refastened his trousers.

They spent some more time removing clothes and everything that went along with that before hunger forced them to consider leaving the room.

He gave her a smug smirk and fished around his pack, finally producing some folded fabrics.

She unfolded the clothes tentatively, noting that they were softer than her previous ones.

The trousers were made out of leather again, but it was lighter grey and had little fur on it, making it softer and warmer. The tunic was black with light silver embroidery on the flanks.

The clothes looked so elegant, like something she would see people in Cyrodiil wear.

It looked like something decidedly not from Skyrim – she only usually saw very colorful clothes or very drab ones, all brown with lots of furs.

She gave him a surprised look. She half-expected him to bring over some skimpy dress she would freeze in.

Then again, he probably knew she would just refuse to wear something like that and it was not really his style to waste money unnecessarily.

She clothed herself eagerly, too curious about how the clothes would look on her.

They were similarly tight-fitting as the last ones, but they were considerably more flexible and stretchy, making movement all the easier.

The cleavage was rather… generous but not as indecent as she originally feared.

She walked over to the night table with an old dusty mirror atop it, looking herself over.

Vanity wasn’t exactly a quality she was taught to exemplify, but it did feel good to actually enjoy functional clothes aesthetically. Beauty was, after all an important aspect of Dibella’s teachings. She should try to adhere to that in some measure at least.

“Where did you even get something like this?” she gaped at her reflection while he studied her with a self-pleased smile.

“The Altmer trader. She’s a Guild contact. She smuggles shit from other provinces and resells it here for five times the price, has a whole warehouse full of stuff, mostly from Cyrodiil and Morrowind. The Guild has special rates for some favors they do for her.”

Aeyrin frowned a bit at that… he wouldn’t indebt himself to the Guild again for some clothes would he?

“But… you’re not with the Guild anymore…” she turned to him worriedly.

“She doesn’t know that. She’s just a contact, no one tells her of the shit that goes on with the members. I’ve been trading with her for ages, even after shit went down with Mercer. No one cares,” he explained, then started to rummage around his pack again, as if remembering something.

“That reminds me… close your eyes,” he straightened back up and gave her a sly smile.

She obliged him, waiting for a moment before she felt cold chain against her neck and cleavage. She opened her eyes to see a similarly delicate chain that was previously destroyed, the familiar magical warmth enveloping her.

It was all silver, matching perfectly with her new clothes and at the end of the chain dangled a small pendant in a shape of a laid down chalice.

She remembered it all too well, she saw some of the priests and paladins back home wear it.

Even Master Therien had one, but he often hid it under his robes, to have it ‘closer to heart’ as he said.

She felt Bishop’s hand on the back of her neck, clasping the pendant before stroking her there lightly as she stared down at the amulet.

“I won’t let Frey destroy things ever again,” he mumbled quietly, more to himself than to her, remembering the ominous letter from Raven.

If he really found someone to take Mercer down, he would do everything to help make that happen.

He couldn’t let the threat of him and his dealings with Thorn loom over them.


	43. Cordial Invitations

_ Author’s note: _

_Celebrating over 1k views on ff.net :) Thank you all (on all the sites) for reading, I am glad you enjoy my story enough to get past the first chapter :D_

_Again, any feedback would be very appreciated O:) don’t be shy. And big thanks to those that already commented or reviewed :)_

_Other than that, enjoy reading!_

* * *

Aeyrin pondered over the parchment, dipping the quill in the ink repeatedly without any actual progress to the letter.

She put in some things about the harsh conditions and reception in Skyrim, but ensured her old mentor that she found trusted companions and even a home to return to, if she needed.

She wrote a bit more about Bishop then she expected, now uncertain whether would Master Therien admonish her for getting too dependent on a single person again. 

It didn’t really matter much though; the more troubling part was still to be written as she struggled with her indecision.

“It’s like you’re writing a whole book,” Bishop smirked, watching her play with the quill.

“I can’t help it. I haven’t seen Master Therien for so long. So many things have happened. I… don’t really know how to write about them,” she sighed.

Should she mention the destruction that her powers bring and how much trouble she has controlling them? The pain that accompanies every dragon she kills? She knew what he would think – the same thing she thought. This was no blessing. Would he advise her to seek to get rid of it? Suffer through it? Would he disown her? No… he wouldn’t do that. Why would she even think that?

She still felt the need to make him proud, to adhere to his values and wishes.

The thought of being something he wouldn’t approve of was disheartening, so much so that she was considering keeping it a secret.

“Just be honest, sweetness. You’ll be flogging yourself otherwise, we both know that,” Bishop frowned slightly but still gave her an encouraging nod.

He seemed to figure out what she was thinking more and more often.

It was quite distressing but at the same time a little heartwarming.

She sighed and resorted to writing down everything.

…

She finally fished around her pack to place the letter inside when her hand fell on one of the little bottles of contraceptives.

Bishop’s presence in the apothecary flustered her so much that she didn’t even find out how often to take them.

She assumed it was different from the potion she knew from Cyrodiil, but sadly enough, she didn’t even remember the name of the tincture so that she could ask. She could probably go back to Quintus… or maybe rather ask in a different apothecary.

“Do you want to know how to take it?!”

Her eyes went wide at his interjection. How in Oblivion would he know what she was thinking all the time?

“W-what? Why… why would you…” she stammered in confusion.

“You were staring into your pack for quite a while and your face was all red. Not that hard to figure out,” he chuckled as she reddened even deeper.

Alright, maybe she was being a bit obvious. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful at his casual approach or horrified that she had no better option that to discuss this with _him_ in particular.

“You need to mix it with water and drink it over the course of a day every week. Easy enough just to pour it in your waterskin each week and make sure you finish it,” he shrugged noncommittally as she nodded slowly in embarrassment.

“How do you even… know this stuff?” she asked after a while.

She wasn’t sure, but she doubted he put much thought to his… encounters. It was even less likely that he would actually pay for these supplies and then give them to the women. That sounded beyond creepy. She really hoped that wasn’t the case.

“I had a couple of sisters who took the stuff. It’s probably the most common method in Skyrim,” he shrugged again, but her eyes went even wider at that response.

Bishop _never_ talked about his family. She figured he would eventually, or maybe that he didn’t have any.

“You had siblings?” she smiled lightly, suddenly feeling like she was trying not to scare a deer lest it may run off.

“Nine of them,” he smirked.

She thought for a minute how nice it must have been, to be surrounded by family all the time, growing up with other children, having so many people to take care of you and to take care of. Then she realized that if that were true, Bishop would hardly be so adamant about avoiding the topic. It was more likely that his childhood was none too happier than hers.

Pushing him to tell her was pointless, she already knew him well enough to know that.

“Are any of them still around?” she asked carefully, getting another shrug from him.

“Not around here anyways.”

That seemed to end his ‘sharing’ mood as he got up to get more drinks.

Her thoughts just then swirled back to the letter in her pack, another question weighing on her mind.

The need to ask was strong but she knew the answer would be a resounding ‘do not concern yourself’.

She fought the urge to add more to the letter and looked desperately to the stairs to see when Bishop would come back, eager to concentrate on anything else than the echoing question in her mind.

_Is my father still alive?_

_…_

Bishop tapped on the bar a little impatiently, watching people scurry around – the old innkeeper throwing him annoyed looks while she filled the tankards, a cook running back and forth between the kitchens and the bar and a Stormcloak soldier hurrying to the upper floor with a scowl on her face.

He wondered about what she asked him – were any of his siblings still around?

Probably Ost – he was too strong to get killed. Maybe Liesl and Drystan… and Duful, that little freak.

He sighed.

Why was he wondering about them?

It didn’t matter.

The only one that mattered was gone.

Because of Frey… no, because of the paladins… no…. because of Thorn... or because of…

_Fuck, enough about all that._

He sighed, playing for a bit with the silver ring on his finger, carved into a shape of a wolf’s head.

That’s why he didn’t talk about it. He would be forced to think about everything, looking for answers, for reasons, for someone to blame.

Those things were far out of reach however.

He should just let his past buried.

“Hey. You’re back,” the Nord barmaid interrupted his musings.

She gave a meaningful look to the innkeeper who almost snarled at her, but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he nodded briefly.

It was pretty surprising that anyone was willing to go out of their way to help him and Aeyrin. He hardly expected anyone to care about anything but themselves.

As fun as the cornerclub was, it wasn’t really a place to get a good night’s rest and enough food. The elves had a rough go of it in Windhelm, it was lucky that she wasn’t like most of the ‘true Nords’ around and made sure they could stay.

He remembered the girl from the tavern more than anything.

They never really even talked, she just served the drinks. They did stay as the last two people awake in the inn one night and one thing led to another. They had a rather hectic encounter in the empty streets, down by the stone underpass where no one would walk through in the middle of the night.

They didn’t really talk or acknowledge that ever since, going back to the old routine seamlessly.

“Sorry, if I got a little weird last night… I don’t know why. I hope I didn’t cause any problems with your… friend,” she blushed a little guiltily. “I was just surprised… not a lot of Nords around would even be willing to even talk to an elf…” the smile she gave him was surprisingly admiring.

Windhelm was getting worse by the day if the simple fact of being seen with an elf by a Nord’s side would be seen as out of the ordinary.

It wasn’t surprising, Ulfric did seem all too eager to proclaim every foreigner he met a spy and traitor and his men probably learned to do the same out of fear more than anything.

“I’m not from around here,” he smirked, signaling his own disdain for Windhelm’s politics.

“Right. It’s good to see that things aren’t as bad everywhere. Or that at least some people don’t let themselves be influenced by… _others_ ,” she sighed.

“Susanna, by the way,” she snorted a bit with a hint of amusement as she introduced herself.

“Bishop,” he smirked.

The drinks were already poured and waiting on the bar – he suspected that old hag poured them deliberately slowly just to piss him off.

He went upstairs only to see the Stormcloak leaving their table, Aeyrin looking after her with a crease between her brows.

What now?

Another ‘true Nord’ all too eager to spew hateful slurs at her? It was really getting on his nerves.

He sat down and put the tankards on the table, looking over her with a frown.

“What was that about?”

She passed him a little note instead of answering.

The paper had a little painting of a blue bear head on the back – the symbol of the Stormcloaks.

He looked over the message.

_Dragonborn,_

_You are hereby cordially invited to dine with the True High King of Skyrim Ulfric Stormcloak._

_Attend on Tirdas evening at the Palace of the Kings, you will be expected._

_Sincerely,_

_Jorlief, Steward to the True High King Ulfric Stormcloak_

He looked up at her as she nervously bit her lower lip, his mind going immediately to what she told him about her arrival in Skyrim, how the Stormcloaks tricked her with kind invitations only to try to kill her right after.

It was clear she was thinking the same thing.

But surely not even Ulfric could afford to kill the only person who could get rid of the dragons.

Unless he controlled the dragons somehow… Delphine did mention him as a suspect.

Dammit, he was getting as paranoid as Delphine.

But why else would he invite her? He despised her kind, even tried to kill her himself before.

‘You will be expected’ however didn’t sound like he gave her much choice.

Tirdas was only two days away. They could leave Windhelm in the meantime. It would be safer. Nothing that man was planning could be of any benefit to her.

“We should leave,” he gave her an assuring nod, her eyes widening.

“What? But…” she thought for a while, conflicted.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I doubt he could just… get rid of me… just like that,” she shrugged, not entirely convinced herself.

“Maybe. Do you wanna rely on that? What could he possibly want with you that could help you in any way? Nothing good can come of this,” Bishop folded his arms across his chest defiantly, worried he might be fighting a losing battle.

What could she possibly think to gain from meeting with him?

“Maybe he knows more… about why the dragons are back…” she rubbed the back of her head in deep thought.

Maybe he was the _reason_ the dragons are back!

The black dragon did stop his own execution and… fuck, he _did_ sound like Delphine. That woman’s insane theories were getting to him. That would not be a convincing argument – they both thought she was over the top with her conspiracies.

“I… I don’t want to run from that man. I’m not going to be another ‘knife-ear’ he gets to bully,” she hugged her arms with an angry frown as he sighed in resignation.

He understood.

Their stay in Windhelm has been getting to her; they either hated her because of her race, or pretended to like her because of her being the Dragonborn.

Maybe it was reckless to willingly go into the belly of the beast, but what else was there to do than to run with their tails between their legs?

“Well… you’re not going there alone. I don’t care that I’m not invited. If it’s a trap, we’ll deal with it,” he nodded resolutely, earning an affectionate smile from her.

…

It was getting late but the tavern seemed to be getting even livelier.

A rather large crowd was forming on the other side of the upper floor at the back wall where the occasional bard performed.

Soon the tunes of a minstrel carried through the place, decidedly un-Nordic.

The songs weren’t even ones people would play in Cyrodiil or Morrowind, where Bishop spent most of his traveling days, they were all too slow for a drunken crowd to enjoy and dance to and the lyrics all seemed to be overly flowery, about lost loves and other nonsense.

He tried to tune the noise out, stroking Aeyrin’s loose hair and her pointed ear as she rested her head on his shoulder tiredly.

The previous night didn’t really allow them much rest, but he wasn’t exactly willing to let her drift off for the evening just yet, especially with how beautiful she looked right then, with her hair spread over his shoulder and chest, her eyes half-lidded and the new clothes he managed to find for her hugging her curves temptingly.

He was really surprised he found something like that in Niranye’s warehouse – she carried a lot of clothes from other provinces, and most of them were fitted to be worn by other races. Clothes for Nords were after all a septim a dozen everywhere and she could earn much more money catering to a more select clientele.

To find something that fit her so perfectly however was sheer luck.

“I never heard those songs before… where do you think he’s learned them?” she asked after a while of listening to one of those overly sweet tunes.

He buried his face in her hair before answering.

“Don’t care. Wanna go to bed?” he snaked his arm around her waist at first, then moved it down to rub on her upper backside to make his intent clear.

She nuzzled her head further into his neck for a while.

“In a bit. I like the songs.”

He scoffed, he didn’t see the appeal… the sounds she would make later that night were much more pleasant to him.

“Let’s go take a look at him,” she moved away from him after a while, getting out of the chair and heading towards the crowd mostly hidden from their view behind the large fireplace in the center of the room.

Bishop sighed in annoyance and followed her after a while, leaning on the wall nearby and looking over the bard through the small gathering in front of him.

A bard… like any other… well, not like _her_ , but she wasn’t really a bardess by trade – she just did that for her pilgrimage stuff.

He was an Imperial and wore stupidly colorful clothes and, for whatever reason, a ridiculous hat with a long feather on it.

What even was that? What purpose did it serve?

Aeyrin stayed behind the small crowd, peeking through the people as much as her small stature allowed.

He noticed the bard lock his eyes at her, an overeager smile spreading through his face.

He finished his current song and put his lute down, still staring at her.

Bishop wasn’t sure if she noticed the line of his sight across all the people blocking the view, but it was annoying him nonetheless.

It’s not as if he could blame anyone for looking – she was definitely more beautiful and interesting than any of the fawning girls surrounding the bard, but she was _his._

No one else saw her as anything more than the Dragonborn, or in some cases as anything other than an elf.

He did. He _knew_ her.

Any attempt from anyone to gain her favor or impress her was just pointless.

He got an urge to go over to her and make sure that the bard knew.

…

The bard cleared his throat. He seemed to be looking at her.

Was he?

No, he was probably looking at someone in front of her… there were a lot of people around.

He had chiseled Imperial features and rather outlandish clothing. Skyrim bards often wore very colorful outfits, but this was beyond that.

She wondered where he got that large hat with a feather on it. Was it some cultural thing? Or did he use the feather, maybe to write down some notes or lyrics whenever inspiration struck him.

It seemed like he made up his own songs.

That was really impressive.

She usually played her songs to remind herself of the wondrous places she learned them and of the people who shared them with her.

The man must have been very talented to come up with the songs on his own.

Or maybe they were just collected from places so far away that she’s never heard of them.

Then, suddenly, the familiar words struck her as the bard began to recite.

Now she was certain he was looking at her.

“Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior’s heart.”

Suddenly it seemed like other people in the crowd turned their gaze on her. She felt her face burn up. This was so embarrassing… more attention to ‘the Dragonborn’, just what she needed.

“I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.”

Her blush deepened.

_Dammit, Bishop, you ass, I told you I can’t un-hear it!_

She took a few tentative steps back, lowering her head and peeking over at Bishop.

She expected another insolent grin or a smug smirk, but he looked surprisingly morose, a deep scowl on his face as he watched the bard.

The minstrel continued his recital and she felt even more eyes on her, making her anxious.

She looked to the stairs leading down towards the rooms and slowly headed that way, eager to get away from the crowd.

“My lady, please wait.”

She didn’t even notice the bard finish his act as she heard his voice at her back, only a stone’s throw from the stairwell beckoning her to escape.

She turned around to look at him, noticing the people in the crowd nearby whispering to each other, and occasionally pointing at her.

“I apologize for their… impertinent reactions, my lady. But I must admit, I myself am quite beguiled by the sight of you. Alec, otherwise known as ‘The Prince of Song’, delighted to make your acquaintance,” he gave her a wry smile, gently taking hold of her hand and placing a light kiss at the back of it.

“I have heard many stories of the Dragonborn, they speak of your strength and bravery, but if I may, none of them quite do justice to your beauty.”

She freed her hand from his grasp nervously, the crimson redness in her cheeks only intensifying.

“I… uhm… thank you,” she mumbled, not really certain how to respond to something like that.

“What did you think of my music, my lady?” he smiled at her with a hopeful expression, the crowd still murmuring and whispering nearby, making her wince.

“It… was very nice.”

 _Until the last piece, that is_.

“Do you write your own music?”

He nodded eagerly at that, his eyes sparkling with delight.

“You are so astute to notice, my lady. I indeed write my own pieces. I must admit, my last performance was only meant to attract your attention. A am sorry that the opposite seemed to be the case,” he sighed overly dramatically, placing two fingers between his creased brows.

“It was trite, I admit. Someone like you would surely not be impressed by lowly Nordic folk verses. The barbarians are hardly the pinnacle of artistic expression,” he chuckled with a derisive undertone.

That was rather condescending. She wasn’t much of a fan of the songs that were popular in Skyrim, but tastes differ and every art is beautiful in its own way, with great cultural merit.

“Truth is, I only decided to spend the night at this place and entertain the crowd due to the rumors of your presence in this… establishment. I am currently housed at the Palace of the Kings as an honored guest of that boor Ulfric,” he waved his hand dismissively.

He was an honored quest of Ulfric Stormcloak and he called him a boor? And why would Ulfric even have someone like him as a guest?

The bard leaned in close to her, whispering conspiratorially: “As I understand it, he has an acquaintance that is a great admirer of my music. The man apparently invited me to perform for her benefit,” Alec chuckled.

Well… that explained some things.

Wait, did he say he went to perform to the inn because he thought she was there? Why?

“Umm… why did you come perform here again?” she gave him a skeptical look.

“To meet _you_ , my fair Dragonborn, of course!” he exclaimed “I simply must have you as a personal guest at my concert tomorrow eve. Such famed personage, and such a beauty too! You will without a doubt fill me with inspiration and help me survive and even thrive in this uncultured place.”

She stared at him dumbfounded.

What did that even mean?

He cleared his throat again, seeing her expression and seemed to calm his overeager exclamations somewhat.

“I am scheduled to perform tomorrow at the Palace for Ulfric’s acquaintance and some select crowd of Skyrim’s nobility. I simply wished to invite you to enjoy my music again. To have someone capable of appreciating the beauty of artistic expression would ease my trepidations about the performance. Truth be told, I am uncertain Ulfric has that many… followers who would be able to ascertain the value of a heartfelt song.”

Well, that was quite understandable, as Aeyrin guessed before, the main base of the rebellion didn’t really seem like a place to enjoy Alec’s performances.

She felt for his unease and liked his music; however her presence at the Palace could prove problematic.

Not to mention, it would be a day before her ‘dinner’ with Ulfric himself, and he would probably attend the performance too. It seemed… strangely rude and dangerous at the same time.

“I’m… not sure that is a good idea. I am probably not welcome at the Palace…” she mumbled a bit incoherently, lowering her gaze briefly.

“My lady, please! You must! Do not worry about being welcome, you will be my guest! I am certain to bungle my performance spectacularly without knowing there is at least one soul who can understand my aesthetic expression. And who knows what that boor does to people who disappoint him…” he whispered the last part again.

Would Ulfric really do something or was Alec just exaggerating to convince her?

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe Ulfric wouldn’t even notice her in the crowd… that was very likely.

And it could turn out to be an interesting evening.

Besides, the music was really nice, she never heard anything like it.

She sighed in defeat and nodded her head slowly, earning a wide relieved smile from Alec.

“Can my companion come too?” she asked, inclining her head towards Bishop, who was still standing nearby, leaning on the wall and scowling.

Why was he still making that face?

Alec turned to look at him for the first time, his expression one of pure shock.

“My lady, truly? You have a Nord savage for a companion?” he turned back to her, pointedly not addressing the man who was making their way towards them.

“He’s not a ‘Nord savage’. Don’t talk like that about people you don’t know,” she frowned at him as Bishop stood next to her, quite close to her in fact.

“Apologies my lady, I just do not think this… ‘man’s’ presence would be wise,” Alec eyed Bishop with utter contempt, not even attempting to hide his dissatisfaction.

“Neither of our presence would be ‘wise’. Come on, ladyship, let’s leave the fop to his ass-kissers and go,” Bishop snorted, nodding his head towards the crowd of people nearby and snaked his hand across Aeyrin’s waist.

That did not escape the bard’s notice, as he suddenly seemed decidedly less comfortable.

He cleared his throat, his confident expression back on his face in a second: “My lady, if you truly insist… you may bring your… ‘friend’ to my performance. For your presence alone I would make many more allowances, I assure you.”

He gave her a charming smile, his eyes still at times darting towards Bishop with obvious disgust.

“Please, do me the utmost honor and come to the Palace by sundown. I will make certain you enjoy the evening utterly,” he bowed deeply with a flourish, earning another scoff from Bishop and a polite smile from Aeyrin.

…

“Pfft, bards… as if he knew anything about getting women to come. His voice alone’s enough to send them running in the opposite direction,” he scoffed with a slight chuckle as they made their way to their room.

“Come on, I liked the songs. And it must be uncomfortable for him to sing for Ulfric and his… friends. I can't even imagine what kind of people would attend the concert,” she sighed sympathetically, imagining all the people they met in Windhelm – none of them seemed like they would enjoy such an event.

“Exactly! It’s dangerous for you to be there just because the little bard is scared. It’s bad enough that Ulfric knows you’re here and who you are,” Bishop scowled deeply as he closed the door to their room behind them.

“I’m not going just because he’s scared. I liked his songs. It will be interesting to see him sing for an entire evening,” she smiled a bit, interested in what kinds of songs he would play. They only heard two of them in the tavern, plus that embarrassing recital. She wondered if he wrote any songs about the places he traveled.

“Great. An entire evening of _that…_ ” Bishop groaned.

She did want to point out that he didn’t have to come with her, but he interrupted her when he came close, enveloping her in a tight hug and a deep kiss.

“You know, I’d sing for you myself if it got him to shut up,” he grinned as he leaned into her neck, kissing her there slowly, languidly.

“I’d actually pay to see that. You can do a duet with Karnwyr,” she laughed heartily at the image in her head, leaning into his touch and running her hands in his hair.

“ _No one_ could pay me enough for that, ladyship,” he laughed back in between his ministrations, stroking over her back and tangling his hands in her hair in turn.

“Now, enough talking. I want to hear _you_ hit those high notes.”


	44. Grand Theatrics

“D-don’t you think people will… h-hear?”

She stammered between heavy breaths.

Bishop’s strong body was pinning her under him, his face nestled between her breasts, his tongue slowly traveling over her naked skin as one of his hands ran teasingly over the folds between her thighs.

“Mmm… let them,” he murmured, muffled by her soft flesh as she occasionally spasmed under his teasing.

The buildings had rather thick walls, but she _did_ hear a faint sound of music through them until a while ago nonetheless.

“Wh-what? But…” she couldn’t help but get nervous, her protest interrupted as he raised his head back to hers and gave her a deep kiss, his tongue travelling over her lips, teeth and inside her mouth slowly.

It was all much slower than the frantic exchange earlier that day, but it made her decidedly more aware of all the buildup and sweet frustration.

“Don’t think about it, sweetness. In a minute, you won’t be able to anyway,” he smirked and moved his languid kissing to her jaw, over her neck and back down to her chest.

She let out a strained breath when his fingers still circled her sensitive flesh teasingly, never reaching where she wanted the most.

He moved his mouth lower again, nipping into the taut flesh on her stomach, stopping just below her belly, teasing the area with his tongue. He moved to bite gently into her thigh, his hands spreading her legs further.

She gazed down to see him looking over her privates hungrily, his tongue still teasing along her inner thighs. It made her nervous to be watched so closely, her skin was burning up and she instinctively thought to close her thighs but his hands still held them firmly apart.

“W-what are you doing?” she stammered again, breath catching in her throat as she felt his hot breath tickle her teasingly.

“Getting those high notes I wanted,” he chuckled into her skin, sending more jolts of excitement through her whole body.

After a while of the torturous anticipation, his tongue parted her lower lips, travelling down her slit slowly, then back up again.

She let out a high-pitched gasp at the new sensation, shockwaves running through her as he concentrated his teasing tongue on the nub between her folds. She let out a loud moan when he nipped into her, realizing herself she put a hand over her mouth firmly while he continued his ministrations.

After a few muffled sounds she felt one of his hands grip at her elbow, pulling her hand back from her face.

She wanted to protest, it was so quiet, someone could hear… the whole tavern could hear! She was distracted from her worries almost instantly however when his tongue entered her wet tunnel, moving deeper inside and then out again in tantalizingly slow motion.

She couldn’t help the strained moans and gasps escaping her lips anymore, her back arching and her whole body quivering as he moved one hand over her right breast, squeezing and rubbing over her hard nipple with his thumb.

His other hand moved down to her slit, his fingers teasing her nub as his tongue roamed inside her and in turn when his tongue moved back to run along her slit, two fingers slipped inside, moving at a faster pace, at times spreading apart, rubbing along her slick walls.

Her body was on fire, her head spinning wildly as she breathed heavily, the trepidation about being heard long forgotten.

She bucked against him, a hum thrumming through her as her walls convulsed, a loud moan and a long breath of relief escaping her lips before he slowed the movements of his fingers inside her.

She tried to catch her breath, but he didn’t let her, his mouth closing around her nub and sucking eagerly as another strong impulse wreaked through her body making her thrash on the bed and gripping the sheets under her desperately.

She felt him withdraw from her and straightening up, her eyes opened, her hands were on her mouth instantly while her cheeks burned.

She saw him put the two fingers that teased her inside his mouth with a satisfied smirk, sucking on them briefly before withdrawing them, a somewhat smug smile still spread on his face when he lowered himself back on her, kissing her neck slowly.

“Gods… that was…” she gasped before her thoughts turned back to their surroundings again, flooding her with anxiety. “The whole tavern must have heard!”

Bishop chuckled, nuzzling his head into her shoulder and stroking over her breasts lazily.

“Why do you care, princess?” he moved his hand to her mouth, strumming over her bottom lip gently. “We’re sharing a room, it’s not like anyone thinks we’re spending the night here whittling or some shit,” he snorted in amusement.

“It’s still embarrassing!” she flushed while his hands kept slowly caressing her in the afterglow.

“You really need to stop caring what people think… they already hate you, you know?” he snickered, biting into the tip of her ear.

How was that better?

She sighed, but her thoughts quickly swirled back to him, concentrating on his touch and how his body felt against her.

She wasn’t sure if she was glad or worried about how much he distracted her.

…

In the morning the inn was suddenly bustling with myriad of new patrons.

Most of them looked somewhat more… well-off than most people they’ve met in Windhelm.

An old Nord woman was yelling at the innkeeper about the lack of rooms for the night, while others seemed to look over the inn with a critical eye and hardly concealed disgust.

Susanna was fidgeting through the crowd, attempting to appease those complaining, before spotting them among the guests and making her way towards them.

“Morning. You want breakfast? It may take a while… these people…” she sighed in frustration, throwing one particularly persistent patron an annoyed look. “They’re here for a bard’s performance. He played here last night. Did you see him?” she continued, looking like she wanted to prolong their interaction as much as possible, likely to avoid the newly arrived people.

“Yes… he invited us to the performance tonight,” Aeyrin nodded, much more nervous about the evening. There were a lot more people intending to attend than she thought. Why would Alec need her there?

“Really?! You’re so lucky!” Susanna beamed, earning an exasperated sigh from Bishop.

“Yeah… lucky us…” he grumbled in annoyance looking over the crowd.

“It looks like it’s gonna be quite the event. What are you gonna wear?” she turned to Aeyrin with a smile, eager to hear her answer.

“Ummm… this?” she gestured to her new clothes in confusion. They were practical and functional but looked much more elegant and fancy than the previous ones.

“What? You can’t! I mean… it’s nice, but that’s not what you wear to a concert at the Palace!” Susanna admonished her, then turned her head towards Bishop’s plain and slightly grimy black tunic and brown leather trousers.

“You’re not wearing _that_ are you?!” she almost gasped in horror.

“What? The fuck would anyone care? I’m not getting new clothes!” he scowled deeply, folding his arms across his chest.

“Do you really think we can’t go in like this?” Aeyrin frowned at her. Her money was mostly gone, with the new armor and weapon, cloak and the… medicine, she would be lucky if she had enough for food and a room for another night at least. Bishop couldn’t have had a lot of money left either – he spent it on the bribe, supplies, her new clothes and, of course, sujamma.

“Of course not! You need some pretty dress, dear. And something less… _that_ for him,” she gestured over Bishop’s outfit, eliciting an annoyed groan from him.

“I’m not spending money on useless shit like that. Let’s just leave the fop to his fans, princess,” he looked at her almost pleadingly.

“You don’t have to go, Bishop. I’ll figure something out about the dress…” she sighed racking her brain to think of a solution.

Bishop groaned in frustration again mumbling something about going anyways.

“You know, if you two are a little strapped, I may have some clothes you can use,” Susanna piped up with an eager smile as they both turned their heads towards her in surprise. “I have some clothes left after my parents. There are some more fancy ones. And really what’s the point of clothes just sitting in a closet? I definitely have something for you,” she nodded at Bishop after a brief appraisal before turning to Aeyrin “For you… it will be a bit of a challenge, but we can find something we can pin or fold enough that it’ll fit you,” she smiled kindly.

“You would do that?” Aeyrin gaped at her a bit, the girl was so kind to them for no reason.

“Sure. Like I said, no point in clothes hanging hidden in the closet. Just return them afterwards. They’re sentimental,” she gave a sad smile before continuing.

“I have some time free after the lunch hours. Come back here around that time and we’ll head to my place,” she nodded, looking over the crowd again, a frustrated expression on her face.

“Thank you… that’s… amazing,” Aeyrin gave her a grateful smile

“I’m Aeyrin, by the way,” she remembered that she didn’t even know the girl’s name. She wondered if she should introduce Bishop, but thought better of it… it would have probably been awkward.

“Oh. Susanna, in case Bishop didn’t tell you,” she smiled in turn.

They _did_ know each other. Or at least she knew him well enough. Did he lie about their previous encounters? Subconsciously she threw Bishop a bit of an accusatory look, not being able to help herself.

He noticed and with a sigh of exasperation explained: “She introduced herself yesterday.”

Susanna seemed to realize what probably happened and flushed slightly: “Right… a bit overdue I guess… well, it’s not like we were…” she stammered, before Bishop interrupted her with a level look.

“Stop talking.”

She gave a nervous chuckle before nodding a bit, awkward silence ensued between the three of them.

“Well… thank you, Susanna. We appreciate it,” Aeyrin broke the painfully embarrassing moment and they nodded at each other in farewell.

…

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Bishop grumbled from the alcove.

They were in Susanna’s cramped house – the wooden walls were old and lightly moldered and the inside was only big enough to have one small bed, a corner table with one chair, an armoire and an alcove with a tub and lavatory. 

Aeyrin sat on Susanna’s bed while the barmaid busied herself by the armoire, looking over old dresses critically, at times lifting one to line her sight with both the dress and the elf on her bed before putting it back down again.

Bishop was changing his clothes in the alcove – Susanna had no trouble finding something for him, but he didn’t seem to like it anyways, constantly grumbling and groaning in annoyance.

“Are you done? Come show yourself,” Susanna called out to him.

Bishop came into sight somewhat reluctantly wearing thick dark blue coat lined with brown fox fur. Golden threads were weaved through the flanks of the coat delicately in a distinctly traditional pattern. He had a simple dark wool shirt underneath and his leather trousers and boots. The whole thing was much more bulky than anything he usually wore; it was something one could find on an old Nord nobleman.

Susanna looked pleased with the result, unlike Bishop.

Aeyrin giggled at the sight of him, he looked very distinguished, but she might not even recognize him in a crowd like that – it was not him.

“You look so… Nordic,” she giggled again, his morose expression making the whole thing even funnier.

Bishop groaned again, sitting himself on the bed beside her. “We’ll see how much you’ll be laughing when she’s done with _you_ ,” he smirked and ruffled her hair maliciously.

After a while, Susanna chose a burgundy dress with pearls and silvery-white embroidery on the sides. It started above her breasts leaving her whole shoulders and collarbones exposed, which wouldn’t be so problematic if the dress wasn’t much larger than her.

She held it desperately up on her form as Susanna fastened it with myriad of pins, tightening it around Aeyrin’s body after being ensured that she had a suitable cloak to hide the bundled fabric at the back. Susanna then proceeded to fold the fabric at the bottom of the dress and pin it again as inconspicuously as possible.

After she was done, she produced a pearl necklace, which upon closer inspection were only pearl-like beads, and long white gloves going all the way up to Aeyrin’s armpits when she pulled them on, but being too large for her, they soon crumpled down to her elbow. Susanna didn’t pin the gloves, proclaiming happily that this is how people wear them now anyways.

Aeyrin draped her white fur cloak over her shoulders – the dress looked pretty good.

If someone were to inspect her closely, they would likely figure out that it was not meant to fit her form at all, but on briefer glances, she looked rather elegant.

Susanna brushed Aeyrin’s hair and spent some time working it into a braided bun updo while she borrowed some eye make-up from her.

“Why are you helping us, Susanna?” Aeyrin asked after a while, staring into the mirror in the alcove at the beautiful hairstyle Susanna created.

“I don’t know. You two seem nice. There’s not a lot of nice people around here.”

Aeyrin gave her a skeptical look. Back in Cyrodiil she probably wouldn’t have batten an eye at that reason. It’s not that everyone was kind to each other, but finding kindness among people wasn’t so rare.

Maybe it was just the race thing, or maybe the war made people more wary here.

Or maybe Bishop’s attitude was rubbing off on her.

That sounded like the worst option.

“That’s it?” she asked, unable to help herself.

“Well… I don’t know. The people treat everyone that’s different horribly here. I always try to be kind to the Dunmer and the Argonians, but they are… suspicious after all the abuse. I guess, you’re the first one that actually accepts… I don’t even know… kindness, friendship?” she sighed.

It seemed like she was lonely in here. She disliked the people who would trust her and she liked the people who wouldn’t.

“Maybe when we return back to Windhelm with some loot and money, we can go back to the cornerclub to celebrate. You could come with us. They already know us there,” Aeyrin said after a while of pondering.

The elves were accepting enough of Bishop, maybe because he showed up with her… or maybe because he ordered sujamma. Susanna probably had a hard time to gain the elves’ trust, since she worked at the Candlehearth Hall – the inn was a cradle of intolerance from what she saw so far.

Susanna gave her a warm grateful smile, nodding slightly and fiddling with her hair some more.

…

“You sure I can’t rip this dress off of you? It’s really tempting,” Bishop groaned, moving her cloak a bit and uncovering the dark mark there, fastening his lips down on it.

She chuckled at him, pushing him away playfully.

“What’s with that? Why do you hate clothes so much?” she snorted, but remembering the aggressive intensity of their ministrations when he ripped her old clothes off her, made her shiver slightly. Getting swept up in that wild passion was unlike anything she experienced before she met him.

“You look better without any,” he smirked. “Besides, you’re all… refined and proper in this… I really wanna dirty you,” he moved back closer to her, hovering above her ear, his hot breath tickling her.

She chuckled again… it _did_ sound tempting, but she promised to go to the concert. Besides, Susanna made such effort, it would be a shame to waste it.

“Come on. We need to get to the Palace,” she ushered him forward, eliciting a groan of annoyance from him, shuffling in his clothes uncomfortably.

“Do we really have to? We can still go back to the inn and enjoy ourselves much more on our own,” he gave her a hopeful wink, but already knew it was pointless.

“Come on, It’ll be fun! Just look at his hat! How can that not be fun?” she giggled, grabbing his hand and leading him forward before he could protest further.

…

They arrived at the Palace of the Kings, the people in lavish clothes all clamoring to get inside.

Most of them were Nords, with the occasional Imperial or Redguard, clearly only there as someone’s date.

She took Bishop’s arm and draped it over her shoulder, hiding a bit in his embrace so that she wouldn’t stand out too much.

She expected him to try to convince her to go back to the inn again, but he only gave her an encouraging nod, leading her inside.

Maybe he just wanted to get it over with.

They made their way inside, a grand hall spreading before them.

There was an enormous long dining table at the center of it with iron chandeliers above, and a large stone throne at the back wall, blue banners with the symbol of bear’s head hanging everywhere.

It was so large and empty… it seemed chilling.

They followed the crowd towards a big iron door, standing open at the side of the room.

There, upon entering, another enormous hall opened up in front of them. There was a clearly makeshift wooden stage at the front with rows of chairs facing it, a blue long carpet splitting them in the middle.

Two large throne-like chairs were sat at the end of the carpet, clearly for influential guests.

The spots closest to the iron door were lined with several banquet tables filled with various foods and drinks.

Bishop led her by the shoulder to them immediately, looking over the drinks as if solving an elaborate puzzle.

“Is that really a good idea? I don’t wanna attract too much attention,” she wondered as he grabbed one of the bottles and poured himself a full fancy silver tankard.

“You don’t expect me to get through his wailing sober, do you?” Bishop smirked at her and took a long sip.

A woman in front of the stage started to yell out at people to quiet themselves, announcing that the concert will be starting soon.

They took their seats at the far end of the room, avoiding attention, Bishop not leaving his tankard anywhere for a second.

They spotted Ulfric Stormcloak with a tall Nord woman, rather young and dressed in bright green dress laced with black furs and rich embroidery. They generally ignored everyone around, heading straight to the two large chairs at the front, disappearing from view behind the tall wood backs.

At least he didn’t notice her there.

They sat for a while, watching people scurry around, only very few of them taking a seat in the very first row.

Their people-watching was interrupted by the woman from the front, leaning in towards them closely.

“Excuse me, lady Dragonborn. Alec has reserved a seat for you and your guest at the front. Please follow me,” she gave them a polite smile and waited expectantly.

Aeyrin looked at the row, prominently standing further away from the ones behind, the chairs looked more expensive with padded seats. There were only three people sitting in the entire row and in the middle of it were the two high chairs with Ulfric and that woman in them.

Going there seemed like a very bad idea.

“Thank you, but we’re fine right here,” Aeyrin smiled back politely, turning her head from the woman, hoping she would go away.

“I’m sorry, but Alec insisted. He wants all his personal guests at the front. Please follow me,” she was still polite but her voice was uncomfortably adamant.

Aeyrin gave her a wary look.

She couldn’t go there! Not a chance in Oblivion!

She shook her head again, this time staying silent, while the woman’s face got a bit desperate.

“M-my lady, please. He’s… prone to causing… scenes. If he decides not to perform or to ruin the concert in anyway…” she looked warily over to Ulfric.

This seemed needlessly high-pressured.

It was just a musical performance, one she assumed none of these people actually cared about.

Would Ulfric do something to Alec if he ruined the evening?

She sighed in defeat and got up from her seat with Bishop right behind her.

She hid herself behind him or behind her own hand as best she could, but she could still feel a lot of people staring.

The woman led them through the entire room until they reached the front row and to her horror, she pointed to two seats right next to Ulfric.

It was too much to hope he wouldn’t notice.

His face seemed to attempt to hide a snarl, but he managed to only incline his head in the end.

“Dragonborn. Surprising to see you here, I was hoping we would acquaint ourselves tomorrow evening.”

His tone was cold. He meant that he was hoping he wouldn’t see her face until he absolutely had to.

She wondered whether to answer. She did not want to flinch away or run from that man. He was a bully, hiding his hatred and fears under the pretense of fighting for freedom.

She knew he was dangerous, and probably unstable, but so was Mercer and they managed to handle him and more. They even saw under the cracks of the thin armor – the fragile ego underneath that deserved to be trampled.

Ulfric seemed the same.

A man with head bigger than his ideals.

“We already met before,” she nodded at him curtly, making sure that her face betrayed nothing – no hatred, no contempt, not even politeness.

Ulfric narrowed his eyes at her briefly, she wasn’t sure if it was because he was trying to recall her or whether he was angry that she brought that up.

She wasn’t even sure if he spared her a glance before suggesting his soldiers kill her outright back near Helgen.

“Mm… I hope you enjoy the performance. Who knows if it won’t be the last one, in these trying times?” Ulfric said in a low deep voice.

Was that a threat?

Or was he just making conversation?

His face made no expression again. Or was it just hidden by the thick beard?

That man… rattled her.

They took their seats near him without any further interaction, the tension palpable between them.

Finally the uncomfortable atmosphere was interrupted by the bard appearing on the stage, an excited applause echoing through the large hall.

Alec was wearing similar clothes as last night, except that they seemed fancier with more embroidery and his hat had an… even larger feather for whatever reason.

He took a deep bow as the applause died down, his eyes scanning the crowd until they rested on Aeyrin, his lips quirking into a warm smile.

He then nodded briefly at Ulfric and his friend, before returning his attention to the elf.

She understood that he wanted her there as a supporter of his arts, but did he have to so obviously stare at her?

It was uncomfortable.

She felt more eyes on her.

She hoped to blend into the crowd, but that was obviously not happening at all.

“Greetings, ladies, gentlemen,” Alec smiled to the crowd, his eyes returning to her again right after. “In these difficult times, it is important, to take a moment to savor the beauties of art. To grace our weary hearts and souls with splendor and peace. Hopefully, my performance this fine eve will achieve just that.”

He gave another charming smile and picked up his beautifully carved lute. It had neat little carvings of roses all over, painted with care for detail.

He started to strum gently, his voice carrying over the room as he began to sing a slow ballad.

Aeyrin tried to enjoy his song, to listen to the music and the lyrics and let her anxiety wash away.

That was, however, not to be.

In the corner of her eye, she could still see people in the front row looking at her, mostly with suspicion.

She heard faint whispers from behind her – she couldn’t hear the words but her self-conscience got the better of her and she was sure they were whispering about her and Alec’s attention to her.

Worst of all, however, she could feel Ulfric’s eyes turn to her conspicuously all too often, piercing her with strangely intense gaze.

The song has ended and she joined other spectators in an enthusiastic applause, well others besides Bishop, who just sat there with his tankard morosely.

Alec took a deep bow and started to address the crowd again.

“Thank you, my kind admirers,” she heard Bishop scoff derisively next to her.

She gave him an admonishing look but he just smirked and rolled his eyes.

Well… it was a bit strange to call people ‘his admirers’, but it was likely true for a lot of them.

“I feel compelled to share the truth of the inspiration behind my next piece,” Alec sighed dramatically a dreamy smile playing on his lips. “There has been so much turmoil in our fair Tamriel lately. But there are those who fight for the world to return to peace. Those whose bravery and kindness in unwavering. Those who I believe will make this world ours again, free of fear and death.”

She noticed Ulfric straighten his back and raise his head proudly.

As if.

 _He_ was the one _bringing_ fear and death to Skyrim.

He was hardly the only one at fault, but he was the leader of his merry band of racists after all.

“And I found endless inspiration for tonight’s performance in one such person,” Alec smiled again, his eyes closed for dramatic effect.

“I would like to dedicate this performance to her… to her who fights for our very lives every day. Our kind and beautiful Dragonborn,” he fastened his eyes on her again.

What was he doing?!

She quickly lowered her eyes with an intense blush, her hand darting to her face to hide it immediately.

There were so many murmurs around and she could feel Ulfric’s hateful glare on her.

Why would Alec single her out like this? This performance was for Ulfric and his friend, shouldn’t he concentrate on them? Wouldn’t he get into trouble? Everyone insinuated that Ulfric wanted this to go well.

This was _not_ going well.

Dedicating the performance at his Palace to someone he hated.

To an _elf_?

The back of her head burned furiously and she refused to look up.

She knew Alec was still looking at her.

He started to play again, his voice echoing through the halls. She could barely hear it, her thoughts swirling.

…

Bishop watched as the pompous troubadour stared at Aeyrin while he performed.

He sang about beauty and love and other shit, while he was looking at _his_ girl.

He couldn’t help but scowl at him fiercely.

It wasn’t just about that either.

She was clearly extremely uncomfortable. He knew she didn’t like this kind of attention, especially if it related to her being the Dragonborn.

And he said that in a room full of people who would hate her just for her pointed ears.

Ulfric was _glaring_ at her.

What was that stupid fop thinking, pissing of Ulfric right here? And for fucking what? Did he hope this would impress her? Did he hope to win her over like this?

Ridiculous.

She hated this.

Not that he would _ever_ stand a chance of luring her away from Bishop with anything he could do, but she liked his songs for some reason. If he just shut up and sang, he might have been somewhat mildly interesting to her, but this… Bishop knew all too well that this was not about inspiration or art or some such bullshit. It was a cheap ploy to get between her legs.

He kind of hoped that Ulfric would be pissed enough to do something about that bard.

Stupidity like that should be punished.

For another several songs he watched as the bard looked only at her while she tried to hide her face.

He wanted to take her away from there, but he knew she would refuse – that would only bring more attention to her, besides she likely thought it was ‘rude’ or some shit like that.

He knew they should have never come.

They could have had so much more fun just the two of them in their room.

Or even somewhere outside… although, she would probably freeze to death even before he managed to warm her up.

Instead he had to sit there, listen to that little shit’s wailing while he was making his eyes at her.

This was torture.

…

The concert finally ended.

She felt like she would rather dissolve into the Void than suffer through more of those stares.

She barely even heard any of the music with how preoccupied she was.

She got up abruptly, her head still low as the crowd’s applause slowly dissipated.

She looked over at Bishop who was wearing a deep scowl. He looked more than ready to leave too.

Before she could figure out a way to escape through the crowd, she heard the familiar voice call out to her.

“My lady!” the bard made his way towards them hurriedly, his lute forgotten on the stage in his rush to catch her before she left.

“My lady, I am so pleased you came. I hope you enjoyed my performance,” he took her hand and placed a kiss at the back of it as he bowed deeply. Instead of letting go of her hand she gave a bit of a start as he intertwined his finger with her, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I… yes… it was very beautiful,” she bit her lower lip nervously, all too aware of the stares of Alec’s ‘admirers’.

“I just… shouldn’t you have dedicated it to Ulfric or his friend. I’m worried you might get in trouble,” she sighed, disentangling her hand from his, not only concerned for the bard, but also highly uncomfortable with the level of attention he’s drawn to her.

“The theater is a place to bare one soul, my muse. There are no lies coming from my lips when I take the stage,” he gave her another smile.

“But inspiration is not eternal, it needs to be fed. Please, I have a request. Would you accompany me for dinner, my lady? Tell me more of your adventures and bravery.”

She heard Bishop’s scoff as she blushed deeply. She really didn’t want him to sing about her anymore. It was so uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure I’m the best subject for your music, Alec,” she tried to let him down gently, shaking her head demurely.

“My dear, you are the best subject for any bard on the face of Nirn. You are so beautiful and inspiring. You deserve to have songs about you sang at every tavern, shouted from the rooftops!” he gestured around exaggeratedly. “I could accompany you! Compose about your adventures on the go! Experience the wild, free and romantic life of travel. Think of all the exciting adventures we could have together,” he clasped his hands together, the expression on his face filled with excitement and longing.

She didn’t even know how to answer something like that.

She certainly didn’t want her every step commemorated and written about.

He was not getting that she didn’t want the attention, especially not the one she got as the Dragonborn.

Bishop piped up suddenly, a malicious laugh escaping his lips: “Wild and free? _You_?! Ha! What exactly would you do if a dragon attacked? Brandish your lute and choke it with a string?”

Alec’s eyes narrowed disdainfully at Bishop, his next response full of venom: “Is the savage getting jealous? Maybe threatened that an actual man of refinement and quality would replace him readily?”

Well… that was a bit presumptuous and Bishop raised a good point. She needed a warrior at her side and it was the perfect reason to refuse him without explaining to him that she didn’t really want people to know who she was.

“Alec… thank you for the offer, but… there is a lot of danger in my travels and I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to join,” she gave him a polite smile, but he seemed determined. She knew he would protest.

“My muse, I can handle…” he was interrupted by a loud clearing of throat. They all looked over at Ulfric standing nearby, his face stony and expressionless as before, obviously waiting for them to finish their interaction.

“Thank you for inviting me to your performance, Alec. It was beautiful… I… wish you luck,” Aeyrin shook the bard’s hand resolutely, throwing a slightly worried glance over at Ulfric before she walked away with Bishop at her heel.

She looked back halfway through the hall – it looked like Ulfric was introducing his acquaintance to Alec, but his expression was still impossible to read.

She hoped her fears were unfounded and Ulfric wouldn’t prove as petty as she was afraid he could be.

“Out of your hands, sweetness,” Bishop draped his arm over her shoulder, ushering her away.

He was sadly right. If Ulfric would do something, he wouldn’t do it there and then.

She had no way of interfering.


	45. The Coming Storm

“Ready?”

Bishop nodded at her as they stood in front of the Palace of the Kings again, Karnwyr waiting patiently nearby, far enough from the guards not to cause an incident – his face seemed worried, he looked ready to pounce.

Maybe the Palace unnerved him, or maybe the soldiers did.

After Alec’s performance, they returned their borrowed outfits to Susanna, who was eager to hear everything about the event.

Not that they had much to tell. Aeyrin could barely register what was happening through the commotion around her and Bishop didn’t really care about anything that was happening all that much.

They spent the day lazing about the docks, talking to the numerous Argonians there and the sailors from the supply ships.

Aeyrin listened to the Argonians’ plight about the way the Nords treat them – how they cannot even enter the city proper and the squalor they live in. Their Nord employers often abused them and didn’t pay them fair wages.

She decided to use the dreaded dinner with Ulfric to some benefit and discuss these issues with him.

If he wanted to trap her or kill her it wouldn’t matter what she said anyways and if even he didn’t dare to kill the Dragonborn in fear of the dragons taking over Skyrim, she might actually be able to get some leverage.

Bishop was convinced that Ulfric will try something.

He hid his knife in his sleeve, in case they were disarmed and kept checking out the environment as they made their way through the enormous throne room.

They were greeted by an older Nord man, introducing himself as the ‘True High King’s’ steward Jorlief.

He had them wait by the long table until Ulfric arrived.

Bishop checked out the tall ceiling… it seemed there were no arrowslits and there were only four guards in the room – two were standing by the large front door and two by the throne.

What were they even guarding by the throne?

Was Ulfric worried someone would steal his big-ass stone chair? Or did just sitting on it mean that one was the ‘True High King’?

He was kind of tempted to try, just to piss off the guards.

Finally, the man himself made an appearance, his stony face looking both of them over with a strange measured eye.

“I wasn’t aware the invitation included guests,” he said sternly, likely hoping to throw her off.

“A precaution. Unless you’d like to call off your guards and meet on neutral ground…” Aeyrin answered confidently.

She was prepared for this issue to come up. In fact, she’s been playing certain conversations ahead in her mind to prepare herself for the dinner. She did not intend to show weakness in front of that man and she would not let him catch her off guard or let her anxiety get the better of her.

Ulfric gave her a long look before nodding briefly and gesturing towards the table for them to sit.

The steward left and in his place a servant appeared, after a bit, carrying trays of food to the table while they all sat silently, staring at each other.

Ulfric still seemed to be assessing Aeyrin to some measure, apparently waiting for the servant to leave.

He put some food from the trays on the plate in front of him, but didn’t touch it further.

They followed suit, all filled with anticipation and trepidation.

“So…” Ulfric finally started the conversation, his face still betraying no emotion. “Skyrim seems to be falling on hard times, with ancient enemies on two fronts. You, of course, understand that I have invited you here to determine whether I should worry about a third one.”

He was talking of the Empire and the dragons both.

She remembered how convinced the Imperials were about Ulfric’s hand in the destruction of Helgen, but he seemed to suggest that he had no connection to the dragons – that they were in fact his enemy.

She _could_ still prod a little.

Maybe the suspicions were founded, even if she didn’t really believe it.

There was no harm in seeing if she could learn more. Or perhaps seeing if he knew more than her about why the beasts were coming back to life.

“I was under the impression one of the… ‘fronts’ was none too concerning for you,” she shrugged, attempting to look as casual as possible, careful not to accuse him of anything outright, not to seem erratic and irrational.

Ulfric’s lips suddenly quirked up slightly in amusement, his voice was much more pleased than before. “Truly? I cannot deny I came across this claim several times before. It was intriguing to ponder how that would be possible. I tried to go through the events of that fateful day… recalling the… _exact_ moment that the beast appeared,” his slight smile was still present as he threw her a meaningful look.

He _did_ remember her.

And he remembered it was _her_ at the executioner’s block right before the dragon appeared.

It was likely he considered this topic nothing more than frivolous waste of time, but he still gave the effort to accuse her of the same thing, likely to show her just how silly all these conspiracy rumors and suspicions were to him.

“After all, who would want to use a weapon they have no control over? However, someone capable of destroying such weapon, would be much more at ease with its use, wouldn’t you say?” he gave out a chuckle.

He wasn’t serious.

He was either trying to undermine her confidence or he sadly knew all too well that it was not something she would be capable of.

She was afraid it was the latter, the imbalance of power uncomfortably palpable.

Dammit, she shouldn’t have brought that up. Now she looked like she didn’t know _anything_ about the dragons – the inexperience and incompetence of the legendary Dragonborn laid bare.

“If _someone_ had such a ‘weapon’, why would they even get themselves to a situation like that?” she scoffed at him. Determined to defend herself against the accusation anyways, in case he got any ideas… Besides, if she could control a dragon, neither the Imperials nor the Stormcloaks would have ever captured her.

“My thoughts exactly,” he nodded, signaling his intent on getting to more serious matters beyond conspiracy theories.

“Then again, one can’t deny that someone with such a weapon might have interfered to secure themselves another one,” his stony face was back in place as he nodded at her.

It sounded like he actually meant that.

Was that really possible?

Would someone send the black dragon to… save her?

But no one knew about her being the Dragonborn.

Not even she did.

It was impossible.

“I’m not a weapon,” she wrinkled her nose, sincerely hoping that neither were the dragons.

“Not yet perhaps,” he gave her a pondering look, before giving out a long sight, obviously done with discussing these unfounded theories, the tone of his next remark surprisingly sincere.

“But back to what we actually _know_ … I must admit, I have heard only a little up until now. About the dragons returning for reasons unknown. About a woman absorbing a dragon’s soul after helping the Whiterun forces defeat it, about the Dragonborn being called to train in High Hrothgar.”

Soon enough the sincerity was gone, the coldness of his voice perpetrating back in. There seemed to be a singe of disdain in his eyes.

“It wasn’t until you arrived in my city that I heard some more… details,” he didn’t specify, but she knew he was referring to her race.

He gave a sidelong glance to her ears half-subtly before continuing.

"Despite the… hurdles, my plan remains unchanged ever since the existence of a Dragonborn has been confirmed to me,” he sighed somewhat morosely, apparently none too happy about how things turned out.

“Plan?” Aeyrin frowned, not really certain what he would want with her.

She doubted that if he wanted her dead he would just… tell her first.

“Tell me, what do you know about my Stormcloaks?” he leaned in, still leaving his dinner intact, eyeing her curiously.

How was she to answer? That she knows they are intolerant bullies who keep yelling that Skyrim only belongs to the Nords? That they tried to kill her… twice?

“I don’t have good experience with your men. I don’t think any elf does,” she raised an eyebrow at him, eliciting a smirk from him.

“You seem so much more confident than what I witnessed last night,” he chuckled meanly. He watched her during the concert, as she was embarrassed and uncomfortable, hiding from the crowd’s glares and attempting to dissuade Alec without hurting his feelings.

“I simply dislike large crowds. Where is Alec, by the way?” she quickly took the opportunity to question him on Alec’s fate.

She knew he could just lie easily, but even asking him would let him know that she suspected him from foul play.

Ulfric shrugged noncommittally, taking a swig from a beautiful silver tankard, decorated with delicate carvings.

“The bard went back to his travels as he planned. I believe he dislikes my land and plans to return to the Thalmor-controlled regions.”

‘Thalmor-controlled regions’? ‘ _My_ land’? He really seemed to take his zealotry seriously.

“But let us not get distracted with unimportant matters. I am well aware that some of my men are… overeager, however, I assure you that ‘eliminating elves’ is not our main objective,” he gave a little laugh, as if she was thinking something ridiculous.

It may not have been their ‘main objective’ but it likely was an objective nonetheless.

“Talos teaches us to ‘Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil’. That is what me and my men try to exemplify, there can only be peace after a war. There is no way around it. Freedom must be won, it cannot be freely given. There will always be casualties in war,” Ulfric’s face seemed to show regret but she was uncertain whether it was in any way genuine.

“He also teaches to ‘defend the people of Tamriel’. I always thought that included _all_ of them,” she narrowed his eyes at him. He studied her again – it was so unnerving, she felt like a caged animal prodded for a reaction – a feeling she was becoming all too familiar with ever since she found out she was the Dragonborn.

“You are from the Imperial Province, correct?” Ulfric continued his questions, his eyes falling on the Stendarrite amulet around her neck.

Aeyrin nodded, not really eager to elaborate anything about her life.

“Are you a religious person? I assume, but… perhaps you simply enjoy shiny trinkets,” his chuckle returned, irritating her to no end.

He obviously knew all this already; he was just trying to goad her.

“I am,” she confirmed briefly, again not divulging anything else.

“And how was your conviction altered when your Imperial overlords bowed down to the Dominion? Or is it that you are young enough to be only ever educated in the Thalmor ways?”

Of course he wanted to talk about Talos.

To be fair, it was likely the only thing they had in common – the hatred for restricting religion.

She wasn’t even born yet when the war ended and the White Gold Concordat was signed. The decimation of an entire branch of religion was hardly a fast process, but while the effects of the Concordat were still felt in Cyrodiil, she was still begging in the streets of Chorrol and suffering under Ri-zhassa’s sick schemes.

She had no idea who Talos even was back then, but she learned plenty during her time in the temple and during her travels through Cyrodiil. She was interested in learning more and perhaps Windhelm was the place to do it. But sadly, she doubted that a zealot such as Ulfric would have a like-minded approach to worship as she did.

He was not one to learn from.

“I’m afraid I’m too young to have experienced the war,” she answered curtly again.

“You are not too young now, are you? You know what happened, even if you were not educated in the ways of Talos. Do you approve then? Stand with your Empire? With the Dominion? Do you agree that people’s believes should be curbed and controlled?”

Ulfric likely knew the answer himself.

If he couldn’t see it on her face, he might have assumed from the rumors about her or anything else he might have found out.

It was certain that he was only asking to make a point.

“I could not approve of people being killed, abused and ostracized under the pretenses of a religious cause no matter what,” she gave him a deep scowl, driving her point across.

It’s not as if he were any different from the Thalmor – he was willing to start an entire war on a theological question and it was not for freedom, it was for power, just like everyone else.

Ulfric observed her face for a long time, trying to read it or think of his next move.

He sighed after a while, a hint of weariness on his face. Was it a ploy?

“Alas, the sad fate of leaders of men is to only guide, not rule. Free men, have a mind of their own,” he shook his head somberly.

As if he ever tried to stop their behavior! As if he never participated or encouraged them!

He claimed this was _his_ city, and what did it look like? The Dunmer and the Argonians segregated, living in poverty while the Nords abused them daily.

“What use are they then? What use is a leader who cannot even protect the mer and the Khajiit and Argonians from the abuse of their citizens? What use is a leader that lets half of his population live in filth and squalor while he holds concerts and banquets? Why give them the power to do something, when they don’t?” Aeyrin hurled at him rather angrily.

How dare he act the victim of his followers?

The Thalmor may have restricted religion, but in Cyrodiil, no elf, Khajiit or Argonian were thrown out of the city because of their race, no one lived in segregation and no leader needed to bend the knee to intolerant citizens.

Ulfric’s stony façade seemed to falter and this time not intentionally.

There was anger etched on his face.

Anger and painful indifference.

“No one gave me power. I took it from a weaker creature. Just like you did. Do not be naïve! There will always be strife and injustice. I fight to right the wrongs that I can. I fight for my land to remain the same, to preserve its traditions, I will not win by desecrating those traditions,” he sneered.

So the racism was just traditional?

Lovely…

“Then I hope you don’t win…” Aeyrin said quietly, her hateful glare still fast on the man as he stood up at his table, his arms folded across his chest haughtily.

“ _You_ have a rare chance. You may be the only one of your kind welcome among the Nords, the only one to walk my land as a free woman. You can help banish both the dragons and the Imperials from this land. You just need to abandon your childish dreams of equality. They can never survive the cold of the north,” he gave her an expectant look.

Did he actually think she would join his cause? Help him trample her kinsmen and fight the Empire?

“By your side, I would never be free. Not of the guilt for what I’ve allowed to happen,” she gave him a level look, standing up from her seat too.

Gods, he was so tall, it was intimidating.

But she stood strong and confident, she had to. This was no time to show weakness and trepidation.

Ulfric watched her face for a long time, as if again trying to assess her.

“Whether you run to your Empire or attempt to distance yourself, know this, Dragonborn. Those who do not stand with me, stand against me. There is a storm coming over Skyrim and I will not be the one to get lost in it. This land is mine and it will remain that way, long after the storm is gone.”

He gave a strange smile then, as if he was privy to something she was not.

“And perhaps, you will no longer be necessary then. Remember that.”

Aeyrin still didn’t flinch from him, no matter how unnerving his words were.

She nodded towards Bishop, who stood up too, readying to leave.

“Thank you for the dinner,” she nodded at Ulfric. No one even touched their food the whole time.

Ulfric still stood with his hands across his chest, watching them both intently as they made their way across the large hall out of the Palace.

…

She let out a deep breath the moment they were far enough from any Stormcloak soldiers in the vicinity.

She looked so weary.

The whole dinner was so tense and uncomfortable.

Bishop didn’t interfere. At first he was prepared to help her out if Ulfric got under her skin… well he would _try_ , but whenever he got involved in conversation with someone he despised, it didn’t end well.

With Ulfric’s soldiers around… that would _really_ not end well.

She _did_ handle herself so well though. Even if he got to her, she never wavered or stuttered. She stood confident against one of the most powerful and dangerous men in Skyrim.

He was kind of proud of her.

But she _did_ make a new enemy for certain.

It was not like Stormcloaks would start trying to kill them or arrest them, but then again, Ulfric without a doubt had some plan to use her to his benefit even if she rejected him.

This was going to be trouble.

Again.

He was starting to lose count of the shitty situations they got themselves in.

And it wasn’t like everything happened only because she was the Dragonborn – his own past was slowly making a massive shit-storm of their journeys.

He still needed to keep her away from Falkreath… and if Mercer told Thorn about her… fuck he might have to drag her away from Skyrim altogether.

Or kill Thorn.

Maybe have her Shout his dick off… fuck… if only.

He thought about coming clean for quite some time.

He never actually talked to anyone about what happened.

But would she really be able to be with him, after everything he did for Thorn?

Warning her about him could make her more wary.

Or… it could make her want to go and kill that bastard.

That would be bad.

She would definitely get beaten, and captured, and… fuck! _Don’t think about that!_

She gave him an uncertain look, his face must have looked too pensive.

He smiled back at her reassuringly, draping his arm around her shoulder and planting a kiss at the top of her head.

“You did great. He even seemed pretty rattled for a while there,” he chuckled, remembering Ulfric’s face when she told him he was useless as a leader.

Priceless.

“What do you think he’ll do?” she bit her lower lip nervously.

It was so cute how she could go from the confident firestorm to the flustered and constantly worried girl.

He knew how much she fought against her anxieties, but he was glad that she was comfortable enough with him not to hide them.

“I have no idea. But for now, he can’t do shit against you. And if that changes… well, we’ll deal with that then,” he smiled at her again, earning a grateful smile back.

She buried herself in him in a tight hug, rubbing the side of her face on his tunic when Karnwyr interrupted them, circling around their legs excitedly.

It seemed like he really was worried.


	46. The White Phial

_ Author’s Note: _

_Thank you all for the lovely comments, reviews, kudos, follows and what have you. It means a lot to know that people like the story._

_Now to the next chapter… (the beginning of one of my personal favorite plotlines O:) )_

_Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it._

* * *

The wind was howling through the cavern entrance.

After getting all too fed up with Windhelm’s citizens and their politics, Bishop and Aeyrin decided to leave the city, if only for a while, to find the White Phial for the old Altmer alchemist.

The cavern was rumored to lead into an ancient barrow – the burial place of a legendary alchemist Curalmil.

Aeyrin assured herself that the necessary mixture to enter the supposedly hidden chamber was safely stored in her pack before nodding determinedly at Bishop.

They passed another empty dragon burial mound on their way from Windhelm and it was probably a good idea to hurry inside, a battle with a dragon didn’t usually leave them fit enough to brave a dungeon right after.

Then again, who knew where the beast could be by now?

There were certainly a lot of these mounds, it begged the question where all the dragons risen from them went. Maybe they were just lucky not to run into many of them.

“Ready? Good. I’m itching to kill something,” Bishop smirked as Karnwyr seconded his sentiments with an excited bark.

Aeyrin rolled her eyes, but she herself was feeling a bit excited for the adrenaline and the anticipation of exploring another ancient barrow.

It’s been way too long.

…

The dungeon was a pretty straight-forward work for them by now.

The draugr were numerous but hardly ever a challenge for the good routine their excursions got into.

There were a lot of nasty traps in the area, and some of them could not be disarmed reliably.

Bishop led her through the halls tentatively, pointing out where she should not step.

It was a bit more difficult in battle, she had to curb her range and rely more on her strength and endurance then her agility, letting the creatures charge her instead of gaining the momentum herself.

They managed in the end though, winding through the long halls, gradually reaching the deepest caverns of the complex.

The battles seemed more difficult further in – the competent warriors likely buried in the deeper halls, now coming back to life at the disturbance.

“Hey, isn’t this against your religion or something?” Bishop smirked as they were recovering for a few moments after a particularly nasty fight.

“What is?” she turned to him, wiping the blood from her face with her fancy yellow rag. It was strange using it to get off blood and grime, but she didn’t really have any other clean ones left. It wasn’t a dress anymore anyways, but she still wondered if she would ever get to wear something like that again. The pinned up red dress borrowed from Susanna hardly compared, it was more like a softer burlap sack. She was lucky it looked at least mildly passable on her small frame.

“Well, isn’t this like desecrating graves or something? And you’re killing the dead too…” he snickered as Karnwyr nudged him against his leg, eager to continue their exploration.

“I’m not supposed to profane the spirits of the dead. These creature’s spirits are long gone. They are mindless husks,” she answered resolutely, pausing in her mind for a bit on the notion that they were desecrating a tomb.

That was technically true… she never thought of it like that.

“Huh…” she muttered under her breath, now suddenly very uncomfortable in this place.

She could justify it by her hope of locating another Word of Power to rid the world of the dragons, however, she plundered ancient resting places in Cyrodiil too.

It was hard for her, at times, to follow the commands clearly. There was a lot of contradiction in them.

She was supposed to protect the people of Tamriel and honor all the creatures of Nirn, but how could she protect people by honoring predators instead of killing them?

There was a lot of room for interpretation and she often had to consult the priests on these questions even during her initiate years.

Perhaps this was one of the reasons that Master Therien thought her not fit to pass the vigil and take her vows.

Not that she was complaining…

This life certainly filled her with more purpose than staying at the temple.

She even felt like she was helping people like this much more, even if they often didn’t appreciate it.

It was nothing new, there were a lot of sick people refusing help even at the chapel, but here it often hurt her feelings when they acted as if she didn’t do any good.

Maybe it was because now she risked her life, or maybe it was because now there weren’t several priests praising her for a job well done.

Bishop hardly ever praised her for helping someone, he mostly just complained about her putting them both in danger.

She knew he would have it no other way though.

He himself loved the excitement, despite his constant grumbling.

“Well… too late now! You’re already a sinner. Might as well enjoy it now,” he laughed, making her realize she’s been probably staring into space, pondering for quite a while.

She gave him a wry smile and shook her head before gesturing for them to carry on.

…

They travelled even deeper into the barrow, weariness setting in a bit as they disposed of another batch of draugr.

Aeyrin stopped suddenly as they approached a long corridor leading into an obviously large chamber.

That usually meant a difficult fight.

Bishop noticed that she started to get a bit nervous – that seemed unlike her in these situations. She usually threw herself into battles headfirst.

“What is it?” he whispered, careful for his voice not to carry through the halls – who knew what waited for them there?

“I hear the drumming again,” she cringed a bit, looking through the hall in trepidation, likely anxious about the repeat of the events at Ustengrav.

“Alright. Let’s hurry. Just locate it right away. Don’t worry about fighting anything, we’ll cover you. Just get to that Wall fast,” Bishop nodded resolutely, watching her fidget.

He didn’t like enemies getting in close to him, but it would likely be inevitable in this case.

Whatever.

He needed to cover her no matter what. She was all but helpless around those Walls.

They carried on through the hallway, the sarcophagi lids falling to the ground loudly, the stone cracking heavily as they charged into the hall.

Bishop’s eyes scanned everywhere, his bow making sure her way was clear as she rushed forward towards the Wall.

She did take two of the creatures with a heavy blow on the way but didn’t bother with the rest.

He saw the draugr approach him, too many of them, and some were still rushing at her as she stopped a hair’s breadth away from the Wall in the front of the room.

Karnwyr did his best to lunge at the numerous enemies and distract them sufficiently, but Bishop could still see that they would become overwhelmed in no time.

He finally managed to hit the last draugr in the front of the chamber in the head with his arrow. Good. At least she was in the clear for now.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his back.

There was a searing heat and a wet feeling – he definitely got slashed.

He turned around quickly, his bow still in one hand, he plunged his knife deep into the draugr with the other, the effort of the movement with his injured back palpable, the sharp pain making him wince.

He barely managed to register the sound of another sarcophagus opening before he fell to one knee. He couldn’t move like this. He needed to change tactics.

He huffed heavily, waiting for his assailants to approach him before he attacked them with his dagger, the bow all but useless now.

“YOL!”

The sound was like a saving grace.

She was fine and she was fighting.

Karnwyr jumped at something behind him, the sound of tearing rotten flesh echoing through Bishop’s ears.

He bided his time again before another two creatures approached, slashing his knife in a wide streak. The pain was almost unbearable now.

The two creatures staggered back, one likely not capable of further fight, the other only taking a moment to recover.

He heard the wolf run off a bit further with a feral growl as he focused his efforts on the still standing draugr.

An alarmed bark startled him when he plunged his knife into the creature’s belly.

Then there was pain.

His vision blurred and he felt surprisingly cold.

He never felt cold, not even in the ‘real north’.

Then… nothing.

…

“Bishop!” she cried out as she saw her companion slump to the ground from the corner of the eye, a large draugr behind him heaving its blood-stained battle-axe.

She needed to help him!

But the strange creature in front of her didn’t let up.

It knew magic and refused to go up in flames.

She noticed the wolf lunging at the large draugr behind Bishop’s unmoving body.

Was he dead?!

No… he couldn’t be dead!

That couldn’t happen! 

She smashed her mace into the creature’s head just as it was about to send another icy spike against her.

It staggered but looked ready to attack a second later.

How?!

It didn’t look like a regular draugr. It had a strange metal mask on its face and wore tattered purple rags.

Its hands started to shimmer in flames as it weaved an intricate pattern.

It was about to send some nasty spell at her.

She needed to stop it and act.

And Bishop needed help.

She didn’t have time for caution. Fire didn’t stop it, her weapon didn’t stop it. Maybe something else would.

She had no idea what would happen, but she was out of options.

“KRII!”

The mage stopped its weaving, its hands falling to its sides, the magic gone.

A strange red glow suddenly surrounded it.

What was that?

What would it do?

There was no time to ponder, she lunged at that thing again, smashing its head once more with her mace.

This time the impact staggered her as it seemed to go straight through – the metal mask shattered into pieces along with the creature’s skull.

As it slumped to the ground, flames engulfed it immediately, leaving nothing but a pile of ash behind.

There was no time to examine this.

She rushed into the back of the hall while Karnwyr held an entire spine in his mouth victoriously.

She knelt down next to Bishop, turning his body over as the wolf approached with trepidation.

There was pulse, thank the Divines, but so much blood.

She feared opening his armor would tear at the wounds more so she pressed her hands to the base of his neck where she could see the torn leather and the blood pooling.

Her hands were shaking so much.

_Calm down! NOW!_

She took a deep breath, her hands steadying only slightly as she mustered all her energy into a healing spell.

It seemed his breathing deepened somewhat.

Good, but not enough.

She pressed her hands a bit closer, careful not to push on the wound too much.

Another spell helped a little more. She tried to gather her energy for one more, but the magic dissipated immediately.

Dammit, she needed to calm down for a bit.

“Karnwyr!” she interrupted the wolf’s sad staring at his helpless friend. “Find us an exit.”

He barked resolutely, sniffing around, feeling the room for drafts or scents of snow.

She collected her pack and Bishop’s bow and knife, both lying on the ground near the man.

When she finally heard the excited bark, she arranged Bishop’s arms around her neck, sliding his body on her back, the bulk of his chest lying on the shield that covered her pack.

She could feel his breath on her ear.

Good, she could at least monitor him a little like this.

She grabbed his pack from the ground where he threw it when they entered the hall and slowly made her way towards Karnwyr.

He was so heavy…

But it didn’t matter; she needed to get him to a temple immediately.

She knelt down by the wolf, sighing out in relief as the weight got a bit more manageable like that.

She fastened Bishop’s pack on Karnwyr while still holding his arms around her neck with one hand.

The task took way too long, but she managed eventually.

Karnwyr looked at her expectantly as he wagged his tail in front of a stone wall with a strange chalice in front of it.

Oh no, this must have been the secret room.

The exit was without a doubt through it.

She grunted in effort as she freed one of her hands again, fishing around her pack with a lot of difficulty with Bishop’s limp body pressing on it.

Finally her hand lay on the mixture.

She pulled it out hurriedly and poured its contents into the chalice, as one portion of the stone wall started to retract into the stony ceiling.

The room was filled with ingredients and what were likely formulae.

She didn’t linger though, grabbing a few papers she saw on the way and the very prominently displayed white bottle.

It looked cracked, but that hardly mattered now.

She stashed the items into the pack on Karnwyr’s back before the wolf led her on through several hallways, his nose pressed to the ground, while Bishop’s breath tickled her ear reassuringly.

Finally, only one other switch and moving stone later, the snowy ground revealed itself in front of her, the freezing cold hitting her sweaty face mercilessly.

She needed to move on.

She needed to get to Windhelm, no matter the pain and effort.

…

Aeyrin let Karnwyr lead her on as the familiar spot where they entered the cavern in the first place made itself visible only a few minutes later.

It was not even an hour’s journey to Windhelm and there was a mill on the way.

The people there could help her.

She moved forward, wading through the snow with effort when a horrifying sound caught her attention.

The roar came from across the river.

She stared for a while at the dragon attacking what appeared to be a soldiers’ camp. The blue banner with a bear’s head on it was flailing wildly in the wind as the beast sent a torrent of ice towards the ground.

Her mind was filled with nothing but one horrifying thought playing over and over again like a silent prayer.

_Please, don’t kill it._

She moved on but turned her head back to the scene every now and then, tears of desperation filling her eyes as she saw the beast slump to the ground.

She closed her eyes, falling to her knees in anticipation, praying to all the Divines to give her strength.

She had to endure.

There was no other choice.

If she didn’t, Bishop would die here.

Well, so would she, for that matter.

The light enveloped her and she cried out in pain.

The frost seemed to create crystals on her skin, especially behind her fingernails. It felt like they fell right off of her, but she wasn’t sure if they really did. She felt all the hair on her head stick together in one giant frozen mass, sending sharp stabs into her scalp. There was something crawling over her face – a million little things just scattering around, invading her eyes, nose, lips and ears. She felt such pressure on her back. And she heard something feral nearby.

No… it wasn’t feral, it was livid with worry.

The loud howl made her eyes open but she couldn’t see a thing, just blinding white.

Oh!

Her face was in the snow.

She groaned in exhaustion as she pulled herself up to her knees, one of her hands still clutching at the arms around her neck, nails digging into the leather.

At least he was with her this time… in a way.

Karnwyr tilted his head at her, a desperate whine escaping his maw.

She nodded at him reassuringly, huffing with effort as she pulled herself up on her feet.

She couldn’t walk all the way like this.

She was so cold, so weak, so tired.

“WULD!”

It hurt so much, her weight much larger and the momentum unmanageable.

She may have broken a bone. She couldn’t really feel where anymore though, her whole body ached.

But it moved her some distance forward.

It was progress.

She needed to go on.

“WULD!”

“WULD!”

“WULD!”

She almost fell over right there.

How was she even still standing?

But there was something in the distance.

The mill! It was just down the hill!

One more Shout and she would surely crumble, but how else was she going to go down? She couldn’t just roll down the hill with Bishop on her back.

Although…

She went to her knees, knowing full well that she may not be able to get back up.

She laid him carefully down just enough to reach her shield.

It was desperate but she was out of options.

She sat herself firmly on the shield, grabbing Bishop’s arms around her again with her remaining strength and looking warily at the steep slope below her.

Karnwyr gave her another worried whine when he caught up and she reassured him again.

Her voice was hoarse and she needed to save it for the people at the mill, but she did manage a weak smile.

She nudged herself on her makeshift transport with her foot tentatively and the shield started to move, faster than she anticipated, sliding down the steep slope. The freezing wind was slashing her face mercilessly as the speed became uncontrollable, their collective weight and the frozen ground under the snow making the shield wobble and jump heavily.

She couldn’t see a thing in the half-flight, her eyes closing involuntarily against the slashing wind.

She felt herself tumble and turn, Bishop’s body slipping her weakened grip, her head landing in a pile of snow, a heavy metal shield crashing into her flank painfully.

She immediately opened her eyes, Bishop’s body was right next to her, his breathing still steady, thank the Gods!

Karnwyr began to howl loudly and the door to the houses around started to open, several people staring at the wolf with a backpack and an armored elf by a Nord’s limp body in confusion.

“Help!” she managed to croak out with her strained voice, pointing to Bishop with her trembling hand.

“Shor’s bones! What happened to him! We need to get him to the temple!” the young woman gasped into her hands and rushed over to them.

Thank the Gods! They were going to get him to the temple.

She did it!

Everything worked out.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM, KNIFE-EAR?!”

_Oh no…_

The two men turned their furious gazes on her as she was sitting on the ground, helpless and weak.

“No… I…” she barely managed to get the words out. Her throat burned and scraped so much.

“You will pay for this you fucking bitch! You think you can come to _our land_ and attack the true sons of Skyrim?! I’ll make you scream for this!”

What?!

He didn’t even know what happened!

She brought him here! She cried for help! Why would she do that if she attacked him?!

“Tie the bitch up! We’ll deal with her after we get him some healing,” the other man grinned maliciously.

She could let them, maybe then she would be able to explain.

But what if they didn’t listen?

And she was so tired.

She might pass out.

Who knows what they might do to her when she’s not even conscious?!

Bishop would get help.

He was safe, right?

She needed to get away.

There was no other choice. She couldn’t fight them. Not only were they civilians, misguided, but still civilians, but there would be no one to help Bishop then.

No.

Running was the only option.

The men approached her as Karnwyr lunged at them.

He didn’t bite yet, but he jumped around them threateningly and growled ferally.

The men stared at him in fear, but one of them reached at his hip for a knife.

_Oh no, Karnwyr, stop!_

She needed to get away, then he would calm down, when she was no longer in danger.

There was no other way. It was survival, she needed to muster all her strength now.

“WULD!”

She found herself on the other side of the river, mercifully spared the cold stream for the most part – the speed must have practically floated her across the water.

Her body crawled with effort and slumped behind a large rock, hiding from view.

She managed to peek out at the scene across the bank.

The men were looking around in confusion while the woman yelled at them, pointing at Bishop’s body on the ground.

Karnwyr was running wildly back up the steep hill, the men luckily ignoring him now.

She watched as they took Bishop’s body and started to carry it in the direction to the bridge near her.

She crawled further away, her legs no longer listening to her. She found a nook in in one of the large stones. She could hide in there, there was a large snow bank in the front. No one would be able to see her there at a first glance.

It looked so inviting, so comfortable.

She wanted to fall asleep in the snow.

She was so cold, but it didn’t matter anymore.

She rolled down, her body pressing against the stone as she saw two people carrying a body in the corner of her eye.

Good.

She caught the sight of the wolf a little later; it seemed as if he was looking towards the city and then right at her, standing still, indecisive.

He was getting blurry.

She was so tired.

She wondered if her nails really did fall off back there.

Her shield was still somewhere at the mill. Such a shame. It was a well-made shield. She was so proud of herself when she made it.

She couldn’t feel her face anymore.

It didn’t matter.

He was safe.

He was going to be fine.

She was so cold…


	47. Lost in the Banks

The searing pain in his shoulder and neck woke him up suddenly.

He tried to sit up.

“Stop, son. You need to keep still,” the words echoed strangely in his head.

The voice belonged to a man. He sounded old.

Bishop felt the soothing heat of healing magic on his shoulder.

His back was sore, and it took a while to remember why.

He recalled the dungeon, Aeyrin rushing towards the Wall as he got overwhelmed. He remembered plunging his knife into the draugr as he knelt on the ground.

He remembered her Shouting.

Then nothing.

Well, obviously he was alive.

That meant that so was she.

He flinched a bit as the old man started to rub something into the wound above his right breast.

He didn’t feel like opening his eyes and getting blind-sighted.

He could just relax for a while. No harm in that now.

“It will need some time to heal properly. It was a very deep cut. You are lucky you survived,” the old man grumbled, running his hand a little roughly over the wound.

Couldn’t he watch it a little? Aeyrin was much gentler whenever she healed him.

He opened his eyes a little. His vision was blurry but he could make out only one person by his side in some bulky brown outfit.

It was likely a priest of Talos. He was undoubtedly in the temple in Windhelm. Well… he could have figured _that_ out without the light stinging his eyes.

Aeyrin was no doubt somewhere discussing Talos with other priests. She could hardly pass that up.

He sort of wished she was by his side though.

“Where is she?” he managed to groan the words out. His entire body was so sore. He was sure he couldn’t move an inch right then and there.

“Who?” the priest asked in a quiet voice as he continued to rub something into the wound.

“Aeyrin… the girl that brought me…” Bishop grunted painfully when the substance started to sting, closing his eyes again.

“Ah… I don’t know about her name, but she already left with that man.”

What? What did he just say? What man? And why would she leave Bishop here?

Maybe someone helped her carry him again.

Maybe she encountered a Companion… well that didn’t make him feel better.

He doubted the priest knew who the man was, he didn’t even know Aeyrin’s name.

“Where?” he huffed in pain, his eyes still shut from the light.

“I assume back to her mill. If I’m not mistaken she is the lass who supplies the city with firewood,” the priest chuckled, likely suspecting that Bishop harbored some gratitude towards his rescuer.

Aeyrin didn’t bring him.

How did he get all the way to the mill then?

And more importantly, what the fuck happened to her? Where was she?

He needed to find her.

What if she was still in the dungeon, passed out or something?

Maybe he managed to pull himself up and go for help, made it all the way to the mill.

Or maybe she was dead…

 _Shut the fuck up, ice-brain! Get up and look for her!_

He sat up suddenly, his whole body screaming in pain as his eyes shot open.

“Son, what did I say?! Lay down!” the priest raised his voice in frustration.

It didn’t matter to him though.

“Get away from me! I need to go!” Bishop barked, grabbing the tunic and armor next to the cot.

_Fuck, that hurt!_

He ignored all of it. The pain would pass, but if she was in danger…

“Son, please, this is unwise…” the priest said soothingly but was pointedly ignored.

Bishop threw his tunic on himself with a pained grunt, draping the armor on his body half-assedly as he looked around for his pack.

No pack.

_Fuck it._

He slipped past the priest who was still rambling at him. He didn’t even hear the words anymore.

…

An excited bark greeted him the second he made his way out of the temple.

Karnwyr had his pack fastened on him and jumped around his legs despite the weight.

Only Aeyrin would give his pack to the wolf… or he himself would… dammit, this didn’t help!

Karnwyr’s excitement ended almost immediately as his barks turned insistent and he bit into one of the buckles on Bishop’s boot, dragging him forward with a growl.

He was trying to lead him somewhere! To Aeyrin no doubt!

Bishop started walking immediately, ignoring his body that was begging him to stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He followed the wolf out of the city, his progress a bit slower than usually, but he was walking somewhat steadily at least.

They made their way across the large bridge behind the gates, heading back in the direction of the cavern.

Bishop was getting increasingly worried.

Was she really still in the dungeon?

Maybe she was at the mill? But why? And if she made it outside with him, why wouldn’t she go to the temple too?

Did the people at the mill do something to her?

He would rip their fucking throats out with his bare hands if they hurt her!

Karnwyr matched his pace to Bishop’s somewhat but every now and then ran a bit ahead, eager to hurry things along.

He should have stayed with her if she was in danger.

Why did he follow him to the city?

Finally, Karnwyr stopped, growling angrily.

He was staring at three Stormcloak soldiers, standing by a large rock.

What did that mean?

Did they do anything to her? Did the Stormcloaks attack her? Capture her? Did Ulfric already make his move?

Bishop hurried as much as he could towards the men, their words finally reaching his ears.

“…don’t usually get so lucky,” one of them grinned, rubbing his hands together.

“Looks half-dead already. Won’t be much fun to break anymore,” another man shrugged, looking at the ground by the rock.

“I don’t care. Let’s just bring her in. We’ll decide what to do later,” the third man waved his hand dismissively. He had more intricate armor than the other two – probably a sergeant or something.

Did he just say ‘her’?!

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!!!” Bishop spat out venomously, finally making his way to the large rock.

He looked down immediately, a golden glint of familiar hair catching his attention behind a snowbank.

“Hey man, we were here first,” one of the soldiers grinned while Karnwyr made his way to Bishop’s side, growling furiously.

The men shared confused looks but stood strong nonetheless.

“I SAID GET AWAY FROM HER!” Bishop growled as Karnwyr punctuated his point by barking ferociously.

One of the men brandished his sword threateningly.

Fuck.

He couldn’t fight three heavily armed men in his state. Not even with Karnwyr’s help.

What else could he do?

He needed to convince them to leave her alone.

There was only one way he could think of. He knew she would hate that, but he was desperate. He didn’t even know what state she was in. They said she was half-dead.

 _Sorry, sweetness_ … he sighed with frustration.

“You really wanna explain to Ulfric why you made an enemy out of the Dragonborn?”

The two soldiers roared in laughter while the sergeant narrowed his eyes at Bishop.

“What, _you_?! The Dragonborn?! Well… Shout at us then.” the men laughed while the sergeant looked over Aeyrin with creased brow.

“Not me…” Bishop growled as the men started to laugh even more.

The sergeant, however, seemed very on edge now.

“ENOUGH!” he yelled at the men suddenly, the shock in their eyes palpable.

“We’re leaving,” the sergeant turned on his heel immediately while the men looked in confusion, first on each other, then on Bishop, then on Aeyrin.

“R-right, sir…” one of them muttered as they turned away.

“Yeah… he probably just wants to fuck a helpless knife-ear. No skin off my back,” the second one tried to snicker but his expression remained unnerved.

Finally they all walked away from her.

He threw himself into the snow immediately looking her over.

She was lying on her side in the snow, a light layer of fresh powder all over her. Her olive skin was now pale white, her eyes closed and her nose and ears deep shade of red, contrasting with the rest of her. Her hair and eyelashes were stuck together and her lips were completely blue.

He felt his heart skip a beat at the sight.

He ignored the pain in his body further as he grabbed her in his arms immediately, not really certain on what to do but share some heat with her.

She was breathing but she wasn’t even shaking with cold anymore.

How did she even get there? Why was she just lying under a rock? Was she knocked out?

There weren’t any visible wounds on her but her underchain and the back of her armor were stained with blood.

Was it hers?

No, there was no way that blood would get on her back like that. It may have been his.

He needed to get her to safety right away.

He curled her unceremoniously into his arms.

Fuck, that hurt so much.

He needed to get the both of them back to the temple.

…

Her throat hurt.

Why did her throat hurt?

Oh, right, the Shouting.

It felt so sore. She shivered. She was so cold.

Her bones hurt.

Why did her bones hurt?

The exhaustion probably. Was she still in the snow? No, it felt softer… and warmer. But still cold.

Strange.

There was a voice in the distance. She pricked up her ears.

Her ears hurt.

Why did her ears hurt?

Dammit, she needed to focus on the voice.

“… nothing we can do about it right now. She was there for several hours at least,” the voice sounded like an old Nord. It was a both somber and stern voice, but there was a hint of kindness in it.

She must not be anywhere near Windhelm anymore… ha! She chuckled internally at her joke, not sure if in amusement or despair.

She remembered the men at the mill trying to capture her.

She would shiver at the thought if she wasn’t shivering already.

Something warm and wet flopped on her head.

Ew. What was that?

It felt like… a rag.

Oh, that was fine then. A warm press probably.

“You should lie down,” the old man spoke again. Who was he talking to?

She suddenly felt something touch her hand.

It was another hand… a large one, rough and calloused but so warm. It was familiar; she would never forget how its touch felt.

She tried to smile, not sure whether the quirk of her lips made it through.

It must have.

She felt another hand cup her cheek, a thumb stroking over her skin.

“Morning, princess,” the deep voice whispered gently.

She tried to speak but nothing came out. Her throat likely needed a rest.

“So… you seem to have decided that napping in the snow was a good idea,” he continued rather bitterly but his voice was still soothing.

“You should have waited for me to warm you up, you know,” he brushed his thumb on her nose gently.

“I heard somewhere that Wood Elves are immune to diseases,” he mused after a while.

What was he talking about? Why was he suddenly talking about _that_? Besides that’s not true. She was sick several times. Maybe it’s only those living in the woods of Valenwood. Maybe they’re more in harmony with all the wild species and their biology. Most diseases were caught from animals after all. Some monsters carried them too. Some people allegedly even got diseased from cold weather.

Oh.

That’s why he was talking about it.

“So, apparently that’s not true. The priest says you contracted something called ‘Winter Worn’. He says he’s never met anyone who caught it. Then again, I doubt he ever healed anyone but a Nord around here.”

What was that even? Was it why everything hurt?

“He says it’s like severe Bone Break Fever but caught from frostbite. And… he doesn’t exactly have a way of curing it,” Bishop gave a deep sigh.

What did that mean? She couldn’t move! Was that permanent?!

“You’ll be better after some rest, sweetness. I’ll go talk to that alchemist in the meantime. Maybe he’ll know more,” his hand moved to her head, caressing her hair briefly before his touch left her.

She missed it sorely.

She was still so cold.

…

Despite the priest’s constant protests, Bishop left the temple and headed for the market.

His body was beginning to shake from exhaustion but he could rest later.

Hopefully his wound wouldn’t get infected without having the chance to breathe.

He wondered if Quintus would help, even though Bishop didn’t really have any money left. He might be willing to get a medicine for Aeyrin, since she promised to get him that white bottle or whatever.

It was probably still in the dungeon.

He entered The White Phial apothecary.

Quintus recognized him immediately.

“Ah! You are the gentleman who was here with the elven lady. Did you find the phial? Or… did you already go through the canis root tincture? You use it once a week, you know? Not _every_ time!” Quintus chuckled a bit as Bishop rolled his eyes.

“I know… It’s not that. You ever heard of some disease called ‘Winter Worn’?”

Quintus nodded, tapping his finger on his chin ponderingly. “Yes, master contracted it on his search for the Phial once. He had severe frostbite and after we cured that, the disease set in. I hear those unaccustomed to Skyrim weather at times contract it when exposed to very low temperatures.”

Bishop nodded impatiently. He never mentioned if his master recovered. Aeyrin told him about the Altmer, he was old and barely able to walk. Maybe it was just his age… but maybe…

No. No point thinking about the worst case scenarios.

“It’s curable. But there’s only one recipe I know of and it’s not exactly readily available. It requires some ingredients from more southern provinces, the marshes mainly.”

Bishop nodded slowly. That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear but it was something.

“You have the recipe?” he grumbled, his legs getting weary from standing around.

“I’ll write it down for you. I even have two of the ingredients here already if you like,” Quintus smiled, taking out a piece of parchment and scribbling a rather larger amount of notes than Bishop hoped.

“Yeah I’ll take them,” he said automatically, not even thinking about how he could pay.

Maybe he could tell him it was for Aeyrin, that she contracted it on a quest they sent her on.

But that seemed like it would only piss Quintus off – he wasn’t really to blame after all.

“Here. I already have blue dartwing and giant lichen. The emperor parasol moss grows only on Solstheim, but you might wanna try the docks, the sailors go there regularly and sometimes peddle some goods. The rest… I’d suggest asking somewhere closer to the southern border. Maybe Riften or Whiterun.”

Great.

At least the priest said it likely wasn’t fatal, but she would definitely be too weak to travel in that state.

Maybe the sailors would have more ingredients.

Or the Dunmer.

Screw his exhaustion and his injuries! He would rest later.

“I’ll take ten for the recipe and thirty for the ingredients,” Quintus nodded at Bishop expectantly.

Fuck, what now?

Well maybe he had enough for _that_.

He rummaged around his pack when his hand fell on an unfamiliar object.

He pulled out the large bottle – all white with beautifully engraved handle on the side and a long crack from the bottom up.

Aeyrin must have grabbed it on her way out of the dungeon. Well, that would surely take care of his problem.

“Is that…” Quintus gaped at the bottle for a while before snatching it from Bishop’s hand rudely and running up the stairs by the counter.

“Hey! The fuck…” Bishop swore and followed the alchemist with much more effort than he expected.

Fucking stairs...

“Master, look!”

He heard Quintus’s voice as he moved over to the small room where the old Altmer lay on the bed, sickly and weary.

His eyes opened slowly, growing wide at the sight of the bottle.

"This... it matches every description of the Phial that I've found in lore,” his trembling finger brushed the engraved handle and the sturdy stone bottle as it traveled down to the visible crack.

“What is this? If it can't hold liquid, there's no way of knowing,” his hand fell back to his side, his eyes traveling from the Phial to Bishop, his brows creasing in as much anger as he could muster.

“How did you manage to damage it, then?! This is what I get for not retrieving it myself!" the elf was caught in a fit of aggressive cough after his outburst.

Bishop had no idea what happened to the phial.

He likely wasn’t the one who retrieved it, although he couldn’t be sure of what happened in the dungeon.

Well, there was only one thing to say in a situation like this.

“It was like that when I found it,” he crossed his arms over his chest with a surprised pained grunt.

That was a mistake.

The old elf breathed out a defeated sigh: “Figures—I doubt you have sufficient knowledge to harm the Phial even if you wanted to. Either way, this is the end of it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm not quite in the mood to entertain guests. I trust you can show yourself out.”

The elf turned slowly to his side, his back facing the two men in the room.

Quintus shook his head sadly and ushered Bishop back down to the shop.

“Thank you for your efforts nonetheless. And I apologize for my master, it’s just that… the man dedicated his life to finding the Phial… to see it broken after all this…” Quintus sighed.

Bishop felt kind of bad for them, but he had more pressing concerns – mainly the sick elf resting at the temple.

“Take the ingredients and the recipe as a payment. And… here,” Quintus handed him a healing potion, it looked like it was of very good quality. “I noticed you seem a bit worse for the wear yourself.”

Bishop nodded, putting the potion into his pack as his hands brushed against something unfamiliar again.

How many things did she grab?

He pulled out some old parchments, crumbling at the sides with wear and tear of the years.

He looked the papers over. It looked like alchemical notes. Well, they were useless to him. He didn’t know two shits about alchemy.

Aeyrin would have given them to Quintus without a moment’s hesitation.

That kind of generosity wasn’t really in him… but the man _did_ help him.

And he _did_ still feel strangely bad for how the Phial ended up. Maybe it was even him who broke it after all.

He passed the notes to the downtrodden Quintus, who peered at them in confusion.

He skimmed over the writings, his face lighting up in realization.

“Th-these are… they must be Curalmil’s. He must have devised a coating to preserve the paper… and the dosage calculations… and here’s…” he murmured in astonishment before turning his eyes back at Bishop.

“What do you want for these?”

 _Nothing_. It was at the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered his predicament.

“Look… it’s not like I could use these… but I _do_ need to get the ingredients and I’m not exactly loaded right now…” he felt a little awkward asking for money like this. Why? That was normal! He asked for money for pelts and meat thousands of times before.

Was it because he felt bad for them?

Or maybe it was because Aeyrin wouldn’t want it that way. She _was_ a bad influence.

“Of course!” Quintus seemed almost relieved at the mention of money. He likely thought Bishop would demand those ingredients themselves.

The alchemist pushed a surprisingly heavy pouch into his hands. It felt like over two hundred drakes.

“I hope that’s sufficient. And I… wish you luck. The good news is that, as far as I know, Winter Worn progresses very slowly if the afflicted is kept warm and resting. You have plenty of time to hunt for those ingredients.”

Bishop nodded.

That _was_ good news.

And he was good at warming her up.


	48. The Cure

Bishop looked over the recipe – Quintus was surprisingly detailed, as if explaining the process to a complete amateur alchemist.

Maybe he thought Bishop would attempt to mix it himself. That would likely not end well.

.

_Mandrake root_

_~~Blue dartwing~~ _

_Emperor parasol moss_

_Slough fern spore pod_

_Red lichen_

_~~Giant lichen~~ _

_Foxglove nectar_

_Heat up the red and giant lichen in a retort with a spoon of water and mash and mix the slough fern spore pod with mandrake root with a pestle. Put the two substances together and mix them in with emperor parasol moss and foxglove nectar into a calcinator – boil with a ladle of water for ten minutes. Mash blue dartwing with a pestle and add the powder to the boiled mixture. Distill everything together in an alembic and let it rest for an hour. Consume all at once._

_._

Karnwyr gave him a questioning whine as they stood in front of the apothecary.

“Don’t even look at me. This is all your fault,” Bishop growled at him, regretting his words instantly.

The wolf lowered his head sadly, eliciting a sigh from Bishop.

He knelt down with palpable effort, rubbing Karnwyr behind his ear.

“It’s not your fault. But I was fine! You should have stayed with her. We… we all need to look out for each other.”

Karnwyr let out another low whine, nuzzling Bishop’s hand.

He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Karnwyr stayed with her.

Maybe he wouldn’t let her pass out in the snow, or at least he may have warmed her up until Bishop could track them down.

She wouldn’t be sick then.

But he also might have attacked the Stormcloaks. And no one would be there to lead him to Aeyrin fast enough.

Maybe they would be both dead then.

And he’d have no one.

He always told himself that he didn’t need anyone, but he knew that that was a lie.

He needed him and now he needed her.

The thought of losing either caused him physical pain. Well… more physical pain.

He got back on his feet with a strained grunt.

He still had an elf to cure.

…

“Not open yet n’wah. And no more sujamma for you! You broke one of the bottles, you s’wit!”

Ambarys chuckled the second that Bishop entered the New Gnisis Cornerclub.

He downed the healing potion on the way, making movement a bit more bearable, but he still felt the soreness deep in his muscles. He had several places to scour and he didn’t want his condition slowing him down.

“Not here for that. You said you get if from Solstheim?” Bishop inclined his head towards the bottles of sujamma behind Ambarys.

The Dunmer nodded, raising his eyebrow at him.

“Planning a trip? I hear it’s more like the real Morrowind than the actual Morrowind nowadays, if you know what that means. Nchow, I know that I don’t. Never been to Solstheim and Morrowind is Morrowind enough for me to leave it far behind,” he snickered derisively.

“Not a trip. Just some shopping. Ingredients. Who’s your supplier?” Bishop asked.

Normally he would be kind of happy to complain about Morrowind with the elf but he was in a hurry.

“There’s a ship called Northern Maiden. If you’re lucky she’ll be docked down at the harbor. The snowberries on it sell some shit from Solstheim,” Ambarys nodded.

“Good. Does anyone here sell some ingredients? Maybe from Morrowind. I don’t really know where all that shit grows,” Bishop asked hurriedly, rubbing the back of his neck. At least he got one lead.

“Ask Sadri. Maybe he’s got something,” Ambarys grunted and Bishop nodded, turning on his heel.

“Hey, where’s our hla-aka?” Ambarys called out to him just as he was about to exit the tavern.

“Sick,” Bishop grumbled, not even sure if the elf heard him.

…

_Mandrake root_

_~~Blue dartwing~~ _

_Emperor parasol moss_

_~~Slough fern spore pod~~ _

_~~Red lichen~~ _

_~~Giant lichen~~ _

_Foxglove nectar_

_._

Bishop looked over the list of ingredients.

He was making good progress, Sadri actually had two of the ingredients and if he was lucky, he could get one more at the docks.

He barely noticed Karnwyr barking excitedly and running off as he peered into the parchment.

Maybe the Khajiit caravans would carry some more outlandish ingredients, but it was too hard to keep track of them. Running into one just then would be sheer luck.

“Mister…” a soft pleading voice interrupted his trail of thoughts as he felt a hand tug at the hem of his tunic.

He looked down on the grimy young Nord girl with blond hair and cheeks red from the cold.

He remembered her. She sold flowers by the docks gate – Aeyrin bought everything from her the last time they passed around only to help her and she played with Karnwyr for some time.

The wolf nudged the girl eagerly, wagging his tail like a puppy dog. Every time they were outside of battle he acted so differently, it was staggering.

“Would you like to buy some flowers?” the girl gave him a look that was hopeful and sad at the same time.

Dammit. It’s not like he could afford throwing money around. He _did_ get plenty from Quintus, but he still needed some for a carriage and food in the likely event that they needed to travel somewhere else for the remaining ingredients.

He looked down at her with a frown but his expression melted involuntarily.

This was all _her_ fault. She was making him soft!

Well… mostly quite the opposite actually...

_Stop thinking about that!_

He sighed.

The flowers wouldn’t be expensive and he could give them to Aeyrin. Maybe they would lift her spirits.

He still had no idea what she went through to end up passed out in the snowbank, but he assumed it wasn’t pleasant. He did notice that her shield wasn’t on her pack. Maybe some rough battle. He could have Karnwyr track the shield down later, perhaps he would learn more. Or he could just check at the mill. He suspected the people there to have had a hand in her misfortune anyways.

Then again, he could ignore it and just stay with her while she recovered. He needed his rest too.

But if the mill people attacked her as he suspected… well… they were owed a visit.

“Fine. How much for them?” he grumbled morosely.

The girl looked a bit startled, either by his tone or by his offer. “A-all of them? I-uh… t-twenty?” Bishop fished out some gold from his pack promptly and pressed it into the girl’s hand.

She just stood there gaping at the amount. He took the handful of flowers from her basket without another word. He didn’t like what her destitute look was doing to him and he needed to hurry. They were only simple mountain flowers, likely stolen from around the old district where all the rich people lived. Not like he cared about their gardens… and good for her for stealing from those posh asshats.

Karnwyr still looked interested in playing with the child so Bishop just nodded at him, signaling that he’ll be back from the docks soon.

…

“It’s not really easy getting supplies from Solstheim, you know.”

The sailor rubbed his fingers through his beard. He did have the moss Bishop needed but was obviously trying to jack up the price. Bishop couldn’t afford that.

“I know you have a transport ship that goes there all the time, ice-brain. Don’t try to scam me,” Bishop growled.

He spent enough time with bandits and thieves to know when someone was trying to pull wool over his eyes.

“Ever been there? Do you know what it’s like to gather ingredients there? People die the second they step away from the Bulwark,” the sailor scoffed.

“You fucking offered me twenty pouches and I only need one. You obviously have enough of it. I’m giving you ten. No more!” Bishop folded his arms across his chest stubbornly.

“Twenty,” the sailor grumbled.

Huh. He actually haggled. Maybe he was used to it from the Dunmer settlement.

“Fifteen,” Bishop nodded, finally getting a satisfied smile from the Nord. The price was passable. He was hoping to get two pouches just in case, but he couldn’t afford to throw away more money. It wasn’t certain when he could get a chance to get more loot or reward money or even some gold for hunting.

He decided to try his luck with the Argonians at the docks too – they may have had some sources of merchandise from outside of Skyrim.

Those that actually stopped to talk to him, however, did not tell him anything useful.

Maybe they just didn’t want to divulge anything to a Nord.

Just as he was leaving, a scaly hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“I know you, dry-skin.”

He turned to see a green-blue Argonian with bright yellow eyes. Aeyrin talked to him for some time when they visited the docks together. She got all upset about how the Argonians were treated and wanted to talk to Ulfric about them. She did… in a way. It just didn’t lead anywhere. It couldn’t have ever led anywhere.

Men like Ulfric were not fit for her to get her hopes up. He would always be the shitty ego-maniacal bigot he’s always been. It was painful to watch her let down like that, but while at first he thought she needed to dispose of her naivety, now he couldn’t picture her any other way. He loved how hopeful she was about people’s better natures and how she still believe that there was good in them.

Maybe there was.

Maybe with her around… there was even good in him… even after everything he’s done.

“You were here with the elven girl. She… talked to me like a person. Even gave me some coin,” the Argonian lowered his head.

Maybe her charity really helped. Maybe now when she gave some good into the world, she would get some back. Maybe the Argonian would now be willing to help him.

“Yeah… that’s her…” he smiled weakly.

“Then I erect the spine of friendship, dry-skin. I hear you are looking for some… ingredients from outside Skyrim,” the Argonian smiled warmly, straightening his back, earning an eager nod from Bishop.

“We get our… supplies with the fur-skin caravans, but they don’t just trade with anyone. I could provide some of our own stash, however.”

The Khajiit _would_ likely trade with anyone. Why would they pick and choose when they were having a hard time in Skyrim? But the Argonian was offering help right then and there. He would be a fool to refuse.

“Alright. What do you have?” Bishop inclined his head expectantly.

“Kaoc, not so fast, dry-skin. I need a… favor first,” the Argonian grinned widely.

Great. Now to deal with this…

“The grey-skin inside the city – the one that shops here at the docks, he has some… merchandise I am interested in. I am sadly not willing to pay. If you would… liberate it for me, I would be eternally grateful,” the Argonian gave a humble nod.

Stealing from Ambarys… not exactly what Bishop imagined. He kind of liked the elf. And if he found out, there would be no more fun nights at the cornerclub.

But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He could at least hear him out.

“What ‘merchandise’ is that?” Bishop grumbled, less and less hopeful about the interaction by the minute.

“It is a small thing, really. From Morrowind. You may even say that now it belongs to my people rather than the Dunmer,” the Argonian laughed at his tasteless joke. “It is called Balmora Blue. It’s in a small bottle like the normal stuff, except that it’s blue instead of purple.”

‘Normal stuff’? ‘Purple’?

“You… want me to steal skooma for you?” Bishop’s eyes shot up as the Argonian gave him a stern look, pressing his finger at his maw firmly to shush him.

“Quiet, egg-sack! You want your ‘ _ingredients’_ but you’re squeamish about this?” the Argonian hissed.

Why did he say the word ‘ingredients’ like that?

_Ah, shit…_

“I need _ingredients_. Regular ones, for potions. Not sugar,” Bishop scowled at him. This was a pointless waste of time.

The Argonian sighed dejectedly.

“Well… if you change your mind, dry-skin…” he nodded in farewell and turned on his heel fast.

It was likely he didn’t even care about Bishop possibly ratting him out, not even bothering to ask him to keep his mouth shut. Not that he wouldn’t. Besides, not even the guards cared what the Argonians got up to, forgotten down at the docks.

…

_Mandrake root_

_~~Blue dartwing~~ _

_~~Emperor parasol moss~~ _

_~~Slough fern spore pod~~ _

_~~Red lichen~~ _

_~~Giant lichen~~ _

_Foxglove nectar_

_._

Not bad… only two more to go.

There was no other place in Windhelm where he could get them though. The only other person who could have any cross-border goods was Niranye and she only dealt in clothes and jewelry.

They needed to get back south, not just for the ingredients – the warmer the weather, the better for Aeyrin.

Not that she was _ever_ warm in Skyrim.

He looked over the people working at the mill.

There was one woman and two men lugging around heavy logs.

He left Karnwyr playing with the girl in the end, he didn’t really want him getting crazy if things got heated.

He noticed some blood peeking from under the fresh powder over a large snowbank.

The effects of the healing potion were slowly wearing off making him feel like shit, but it was the last thing he needed to do before he could rest.

“Oh! It’s you. I’m glad you’re up on your feet. It looked touch and go for a while there,” the young Nord woman chuckled when she noticed him.

She approached him with a noticeable sway to her step and gave him a warm smile when she reached him. “How are you feeling?” she looked him up and down but her brows creased a bit when she noticed his permanent scowl.

“What happened?” he asked curtly.

Maybe he had no reason to be this brash with her, but he couldn’t care less anymore.

“Well, you were wounded, so we took you to the temple for healing. Good thing we did,” she smiled again, now looking a bit more nervous.

He noticed the two men approaching curiously.

“How did I get here?” he continued his questions.

“I don’t know. But you were fighting with someone,” she shook her head regretfully.

“A knife-ear. Feral one from the look of it,” one of the men piped up.

‘Feral’?

“She even had a… a rabid dog or a wolf with her. We heard a crash, then that beast barked and you were on the ground… looked dead and all. She was there, her arms all bloody. When we asked what she did to you, she didn’t even talk. We tried to catch her… you know, get her to the guards or maybe… interrogate her or something. Then her wolf attacked and she screamed… this weird loud scream… I really think she was feral. She was gone the next second.”

Bishop stared at him for a while, not really sure how to react.

He was mad that they got her to the point she needed to hide in that bank. But at least they didn’t manage to hurt her.

He did feel like punching that ice-brain at the least. What the fuck did he mean ‘interrogate her’?

But he was getting so tired.

And she… if she wanted to attack them, she obviously could have… she _did_ likely manage to Shout to get away.

“Did you find a shield from silver metal?” he sighed in defeat.

There really was no fight left in him.

“Oh, it’s yours? Come with me, I have it at home,” the woman answered with a smile, leading him to the small cabin nearby.

She handed him Aeyrin’s shield as he stood at the door frame – it was somewhat scraped, but that was likely from the dungeon.

“So… would you like a tankard of mead or…” the young woman smiled at him warmly.

He barely noticed.

He had everything he needed now.

“I need to go,” he turned on his heel immediately, still somewhat on the verge of starting something with the people who had a hand in Aeyrin’s sickness.

It was likely for the best that he was so tired.

…

He ran into Susanna on his way back, forced yet again to postpone his rest and tell her that they would not be taking her to the cornerclub because of what happened.

She seemed worried about Aeyrin and asked to see her, but he brushed her off, promising that they’ll come say goodbye before leaving Windhelm.

There was nothing she could do to help Aeyrin’s condition anyways, she needed rest.

He headed into the temple, the priest giving him another admonishing look.

So what? It was his own damn health to gamble with.

He took off the tunic uncomfortably sticking to his wound and walked over to a washbasin, cleaning the area swiftly.

He was about ready to keel over.

He managed to walk to the cot where Aeyrin lay. Her lips and skin were still pale, her ears and nose reddish.

He noticed her shivering even in her sleep bundled under a thick fur.

Fuck it, let the priest complain if he wants to.

She needed to be warm.

He nudged her aside a bit, not waking her at all.

He curled his body firmly against her, hiding under the fur alongside her, his hands stroking gently over her to warm her up some more.

Her back was to him but he could feel her shivering dissipate mildly.

Good. He had no problem doing this as long as she needed.

Burying his head in her hair and huffing in exhaustion he finally found the sleep that eluded him for so long.


	49. The Long Road

Aeyrin curled up to Bishop, her white fur cloak draped over her shoulders and a warm thick blanket enveloping her body.

She still felt a bit cold in the outside air, but his hand stroking over her hair slowly helped a lot for some reason.

The carriage ride was more comfortable than she thought.

The only other times she took a carriage around Skyrim was to Mercer’s party, which seemed uncomfortable for the company alone, and then of course her ride to Helgen as a prisoner.

She never traveled on a carriage in Cyrodiil but she saw them often enough – they seemed fancier, the benches were padded and they had painted wood and little doors on the back.

Skyrim was more austere – it was just a bunch of wooden planks nailed together.

She’d rather walk, but that was not an option. He legs were shaking badly with every step she took – it seemed that her bones were too weak to carry her.

“Hehe, not used to our lovely weather, huh?” the driver chuckled as he glanced back at them.

“Something like that,” Bishop smirked when she huddled even closer to him, hiding her face in the blanket.

“I’ll be stopping at Ivarstead on the way, people often hitch with me on the way to Whiterun,” the driver continued to make small talk as Bishop simply grunted in response. 

Aeyrin was usually more than happy to converse with anyone on no particular topics. That wasn’t really his thing… people asked too many questions he had no inclinations on answering.

Aeyrin, however, seemed to be either asleep or too tired to talk.

“So… what’s your business in Whiterun?”

Great. It was starting already.

“Just getting somewhere warmer,” Bishop grumbled.

The driver stopped talking for a while.

Good. He needed to think about what to do in Whiterun.

He needed to put Aeyrin somewhere safe where she could rest. The Bannered Mare was an option, although he knew she barely had any money left at all and he needed his for the ingredients.

Danica _might_ have taken pity on her and let her stay in the temple for free, but that was unlikely… especially since she was less than happy with how they resolved the hunt for the old tree sap.

There was another option but he wasn’t exactly eager to take it.

What else was there though?

If nothing else, the Companions could provide some roof over her head.

He just hoped that those ice-brain brothers didn’t offer to warm her up when he was gone. Maybe he could ask Aela to watch over her, she seemed the least annoying to him.

The next issue was getting those ingredients.

There was a chance that a Khajiit caravan would be making camp by Whiterun. If not, there was an apothecary and a general store.

Other than that, he only got one other idea which honestly made his stomach clench.

It’s not as if Ysolda would help him anyways, she still hated him after what happened.

Not that it was his fucking fault.

He _did_ warn that idiot fiancé of hers not to get involved. Now that fool was dead.

Just like anyone who got involved.

Except for him that is… he wasn’t sure if he should think himself lucky or not.

He sighed deeply.

Ysolda _did_ have good connections to cross-border merchants. If anyone knew where to get outlandish ingredients it was her.

But again… she would never help him.

 _Was_ it his fault? Was he doing the same to Aeyrin?

“R..gonna…vaskr?” Aeyrin mumbled into the blanket.

“What’s that, sweetness?” he chuckled at her attempts to speak and keep her face warm at the same time. She untangled her face from the blanket with a groan, her teeth chattering slightly the minute the cold wind hit her.

“Are we gonna s-s-stay at Jorrvaskr?” Bishop nodded, moving his hand from her hair to her cheek.

“Yeah… seems like the best option… the cheapest anyway…”

Aeyrin’s face creased between the brows. Didn’t she _want_ to stay there?

“What is it?” he raised a brow at her.

“T-t-they’re gonna make f-fun of me…” she pouted, hiding her face in his flank as he laughed heartily.

“Oh. Are you Companions?” the driver piped up again, an admiring smile on his face as he looked back into the carriage.

“Just her,” Bishop answered curtly again, attempting to keep him out of their conversation.

This was exactly why he hated taking the carriage.

It was pretty nice and relaxing with her in the back. It would be even nicer if he knew that no one was watching and listening.

“That’s great! I wanted to bring some business their way but the cash’s been short. ‘Sides it’s a favor for everyone, hardly seems fair I should pay personally,” the driver continued as Aeyrin pricked up her ears.

“F-favor?” she tried to speak louder but was still somewhat muffled by Bishop’s body and the blanket.

“There’s been rumors of increased bandit raids on the road to Ivarstead near Fort Amol. They don’t usually go for transport carriages but still… I’m not worried now with a Companion on board though,” the driver chuckled.

Bishop froze.

Fort Amol? That was just by Lost Knife.

There’s always bandits there, why would he even mention that?

_Fuck, don’t say you’ll take care of it._

He had to control himself not to swear out loud.

“I can look into…” she mumbled but he interrupted her immediately.

“You can’t. You need to recover,” he thought for a while about telling the driver that they would send the Companions but… that seemed too malicious even for him.

“Just tell the guards in the Rift,” he grumbled at the man. It’s not like the guards would do anything.

“Pfft. As if they’d help. I’m telling you, it’s been getting crazy. Someone should look into that…”

_Shut up, shut up, shut up._

Bishop gritted his teeth. He knew how deadly assaulting Lost Knife could get – that place was ripe to be crawling with at least a hundred bandits and they knew well how to make a death trap out of it.

Besides, even though he wasn’t sure, he still suspected that the place was closely associated with Thorn’s group – likely his main operation while he hid himself in Falkreath, just like back then.

If that was true, it was likely that a lot of the bandits would recognize him.

Some may have seen him personally and others may have been given a description or something.

After all, Thorn still loved to claim that Bishop ‘owed him’.

As if he deserved anything else then a slow and very painful death after what he did to Jules.

The conversation stopped there, luckily.

The driver kept blabbering once in a while, talking about how horrible it was that the dragons have returned or something about warriors from Hammerfell visiting Skyrim – he seemed fascinated by their weird swords.

Bishop didn’t care, more and more aware of the road they were taking and the lack of options to avoid it.

If they were on foot it would have been easy to dodge bandits but the road was a target ripe for the picking.

The driver said that they didn’t often attack transport carriages though.

But they likely had lookouts and Bishop and Aeyrin’s equipment might have attracted attention.

Then again it may intimidate them…

He sighed, feeling the elf’s heavy breaths beside him. He kept stroking her hair slowly, glad that she was asleep and couldn’t discuss the area with the driver anymore.

…

They were slowly but surely approaching the road around Fort Amol and his uneasy feeling only deepened.

“Fuck, I still can’t get used to that! He’ll scare the horse, you know?” the driver exclaimed just as the wolf hopped onto the back of the carriage.

Up until then, he was more than happy to chase after them or run around the wilderness and track them later, only appearing beside the cart for short moments.

He probably tired himself out.

Karnwyr growled suddenly, biting into the buckle of Bishop’s boot and pulling at him.

Shit, that meant trouble.

Bishop untangled himself from Aeyrin, careful not to wake her.

He _knew_ something would happen.

 _Fuck_.

He needed to get rid of anyone before he could be recognized.

“Uhh… are those people down there by the road?” the driver asked nervously.

Of course they were.

Bishop spotted them some distance away. Hopefully they were far enough that he could deal with them alone, without either the driver or Aeyrin overhearing.

“I’ll handle it,” Bishop hopped of the carriage with Karnwyr right at his heels.

“Don’t you want to wake your Companion friend?” the driver asked, clearly very unnerved.

“No. Let her sleep. I can handle this,” Bishop said sternly, hoping the driver didn’t get any stupid ideas.

He went ahead a bit as the bandits already noticed the approaching carriage.

There goes the stealthy approach.

He hurried his step to outrun the cart, his hunting knife ready in his hand.

“Oh look! One guard. Whatever will we do now?” a bandit woman cackled obnoxiously at Bishop.

“Yeah. He’s sooo scary! We should prob’ly surrender, huh?” the man beside her laughed heartily as the third bandit looked over Bishop curiously.

He noticed movement in the tree by the road.

Fuck.

He couldn’t take down an archer like this.

“Look! He’s got a doggy!” the woman laughed again, brandishing her mace.

“So, carriage guard, you gonna hand us your money and let us talk with your friend driving the cart or we gonna have some fun?” the man gave him a toothless grin.

The third bandit stopped her scrutiny as Bishop kept glancing up at the branches, trying to determine if there were more than one of them hidden there.

“He don’t look like a guard, boar-brain. That don’t look like a doggy neither. ‘Sides I think he found our friend,” she gave a lopsided grin, few of her teeth missing, as the other bandits scoffed at her.

‘Friend’ – singular. Good.

He just needed to move a lot and try to do that unpredictably to dodge their arrows.

But why the fuck could he still hear the horse approaching? Did the driver not stop? Was he stupidly trying to help?

That meant he was out of time.

No more talking then.

“I’m always up for some fun,” Bishop growled and lunged at the third bandit, slitting her throat quickly and skillfully before she even realized he attacked.

Karnwyr jumped at the man as Bishop made sure to move quickly from where he was standing. But there were no arrows coming.

Shit, hopefully he wasn’t targeting the driver, or worse, Aeyrin.

His fast movement came as a surprise to the remaining two, the man was startled and Karnwyr took the perfect opportunity to lunge straight at his throat, the blood spraying everywhere while he gave out a feral growl.

The remaining woman seemed shocked with the development, just enough for Bishop to make his way behind her and plunge his dagger into her back swiftly.

That was easy.

They didn’t even manage to attack.

What about the archer?

Bishop looked up at the tree.

_Don’t look up and just stand there, ice-brain, they’ll shoot you._

He quickly realized himself but was uncertain how to proceed.

He moved at the very least but he could not see the bandit among the long pine needles.

“Hold on,” a voice came from the tree, the branches rustling.

“Why the fuck would I?” Bishop scoffed at the request. Was he supposed to stand still for him so that he could get shot?

Suddenly a figure dropped from the tree – very skillfully, on his feet and without as much as a stagger.

The Breton man straightened his back with a wicked smirk, looking Bishop over.

He saw him before. Once or twice in… Falkreath.

_Fuck!_

“The dangers of taking rookies to the road... one person with mild skill and they all drop like little wisps when you kill their mamma,” the man chuckled, nodding amicably at Bishop who eyed him warily.

Did he just say _‘mild skill’_? Pfft…

“Never thought to see the Thrice-Banished again… my lucky day I guess,” his smile turned into a sneer as he pulled out his shortsword.

“I’ll keep you alive for the boss,” the Breton winked as he lunged at Bishop.

He was not prepared.

Why was he not prepared? Did that stupid name really rattle him so much? What if one of them heard? The driver could have heard the name around Skyrim. Aeyrin would question it without a doubt.

 _Fuck_.

The Breton toppled him to the ground, the hilt of his sword hitting him in the head painfully.

His vision blurred but he didn’t lose consciousness.

He noticed the brown smudge hurl itself at his assailant, followed by a piercing scream.

No more hesitating.

He focused on the blurry shapes slowly taking form and lodged his knife in what he thought was the man’s neck.

It was not.

There was a sickening crack as the force of his thrust cracked the skull, the dead weight on him immediately. 

He moved the Breton’s small body from him quickly, his blood soaking his face and leather armor.

He could finally look around.

Karnwyr was sniffing at the corpses around, checking for any signs of life.

The carriage was some distance away but a lot closer than he would have hoped. He could see the driver’s shocked expression. He desperately hoped that their conversation wasn’t overheard.

He stood up, his feet a bit shaky from the blow, but he managed to steady himself rather quickly.

The Breton was too weak to knock someone out like that. And he says something about rookies… idiot.

He bent down to take back his knife, yanking it away with some difficulty – it was a lot harder than getting it in.

Bishop walked back towards the carriage when he was done, rubbing the blood away from his face with his equally bloodied glove ineffectively.

“Are you alright? A scream woke me… but he said you’re fine.” Aeyrin was lying on the bench, huddled in her furs with a worried expression as she inclined her head weakly to the driver.

“That was really impressive. Never seen anyone make such short work of bandits before. You sure you’re not a Companion too? Maybe you should join…” the driver chuckled, the tone of his voice still somewhat uneasy.

Bishop didn’t answer, studying her face for a while instead.

She gave him a small smile. It didn’t look like there were any questions on her mind.

Good.

Fuck, that was close.

He quickly sat himself beside her, drawing her torso to rest on his lap as he fished in his pack for a rag to clean his face with.

He took off his gloves and returned to stroking over her hair again.

It strangely calmed him down.

…

“Mmm… he’ll… he’ll be back soon,” Aeyrin tried to dislodge herself from him, but was too weak.

She was lucky if she could walk for a while or eat and drink, she had hardly any hope against his grip.

“I know. But this is a sure way to warm you up,” Bishop chuckled as he moved his mouth back against her, his tongue probing her as his hands ran over her arms and torso in rather fast motions.

He _was_ right, it did warm her up a lot more than the blanket, but she was all too aware of the driver coming back to the carriage soon.

Bishop luckily kept the exchange rather chaste for his measures, but she still didn’t get how he could be so at ease with these public displays.

“Whoa! I’d offer to give you some more time alone here, but we have to get going.” the anticipated chuckle of the driver made Bishop groan in annoyance as Aeyrin quickly hid her face into his chest.

“You know, I don’t really mind… you should have said. You could have done whatever you liked in the back. I’d be as quiet as a dead skeever.”

Now it was Aeyrin who groaned, her face hidden but predictably blushing furiously as Bishop laughed.

Not that he’d be willing to do that – he could hardly let that annoying ice-brain see or hear anything that was for his eyes and ears only.

Not to mention, she was hardly in a condition to do anything more.

“Now your chance is gone. We’ll have some more travelers here in a minute,” the driver smirked as he took his seat at the front of the carriage, fishing out some dried meat from his pack and biting into it with gusto.

Bishop internally swore at the prospect of more small talk, but hopefully the travelers would occupy the driver and Aeyrin could get some sleep while he got some peace and quiet.

He looked across the bridge where Ivarstead spread out behind them. Two people were making their way towards the carriage – a young Nord woman in a flowing dress and an Imperial man in a somewhat fancy garb.

They got up into the cart with rather excited expressions, which turned somewhat more unnerved when they noticed the residual traces blood on Bishop’s face neck and armor.

“Ah… g-good sir, what happened to you?” the man asked carefully, pointing at Bishop’s chest.

“You wouldn’t believe it! This man took care of four bandits on the road single-handedly. Well… with his war-hound, but still,” the driver turned to them excitedly as their expressions relaxed visibly.

Bishop _did_ tell him that Karnwyr was a wolf, but the man seemed to block-out that detail.

Not like he cared.

“That’s excellent news. I feel much safer, knowing we have some protection on the road,” the man nodded with approval.

“My name’s Fastred and this is my betrothed Bassianus,” the woman smiled warmly as her fiancé added proudly: “I am taking my dear Fastred away from this hole and across Skyrim for our honeymoon. We’ll be visiting all the major cities, then settle down in Riften.”

That sounded expensive, but the man seemed to be well off. Good thing he wasn’t there when the bandits attacked, the Breton would have surely targeted the carriage then. This way he probably didn’t even notice Aeyrin, all huddled under the furs.

“Aeyrin,” she straightened herself a bit under Bishop’s arm around her shoulder, covering herself up to her chin with the blanket.

“Bishop,” he grunted as politely as he could muster.

Hopefully now they would turn their attention to the driver.

“Alfarinn. Been drivin’ from Windhelm for years now,” the driver introduced himself proudly.

“Nice to meet all of you,” Fastred smiled, looking over Aeyrin with a crease between her brows as the elf closed her eyes again and nestled her head into Bishop’s shoulder.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked carefully, Aeyrin opened her eyes again and nodded weakly, closing them again.

“She’s just tired… and cold,” Bishop grunted, hoping they would leave her alone.

“Really? Doesn’t seem that cold to me… and I still haven’t completely gotten used to the weather,” Bassianus rubbed his chin with a smirk.

“Yeah. And I doubt a Companion would be that frail,” Alfarinn exclaimed, eliciting a groan from Bishop as the couple’s eyes went wide.

“I reckon she got one in the oven and they’re trying to pull wool over everyone’s eyes,” the driver chuckled at which point both Fastred and Bassianus looked curiously at Aeyrin’s belly – completely futilely of course, as the blanket covered everything.

Bishop rolled his eyes. He couldn’t care less what they thought as long as they let her sleep.

His silence seemed to be answer enough for them and they luckily turned their inquisitiveness towards Alfarinn.

Aeyrin seemed to be falling asleep again as he brushed his hand in her hair, mostly attempting to ignore the incessant chatter. He did catch the part where Bassianus mentioned he used to be a cross-border merchant and questioned him on his sources. He, however, knew of no one dealing in ingredients – apparently he transported clothing and jewelry just like Niranye.

The road to Whiterun seemed so long with all the people around.

He pined for their lone journeys and camping far from roads, far from people.

It was blessedly uneventful, though, giving Aeyrin the chance to gather some of her lost strength.


	50. A Home to Return to

_ Author’s Note: _

_Dear readers, thank you all again for reading, commenting, liking, reviewing and all that jazz. I am so happy there are those of you who enjoy the story._

_And for those, I have some good news. As I am posting the edited 50 th chapter, I also have currently finished writing chapter 100! Woohoo :D _

_All of the chapters need to be re-read and edited before posting but rest assured, there’s a lot more to come, dear readers._

_I hope you all enjoy the upcoming chapters._

* * *

“Seriously, I can carry you. Stop pushing it.”

Bishop grumbled when he caught her in his arm, supporting her weight when her knees buckled.

“No… I can walk,” she sighed as she steadied herself again. It wasn’t just about proving to herself that she was strong enough to walk on her own despite her condition, the thought of her being carried like a child for everyone to see was not really pleasant.

As much as she hated it, people in Whiterun generally knew she was the Dragonborn, which made it even more daunting – the only person capable of killing dragons not even able to stand on her two legs.

Bishop rolled his eyes but offered her his arm for support.

She draped her arm through his, laying as much of her weight against him as possible before shooting him a grateful smile.

The shaking from the cold only made things worse, but she willed herself to carry on. It wasn’t that far to Jorrvaskr.

It seemed important to be able to do this.

What if Bishop wouldn’t be able to get the ingredients after all?

She might need to live like this for quite some time.

The walk was a lot slower than their usual pace, but they managed to get into the city and headed towards the Companions’ longhouse.

Karnwyr was getting fidgety around them, frustrated at the lack of action and slow progress, he ran off into the streets, either bothering some urchins or hunting birds.

…

The sounds of sparring and loud cheering filled the area around the building as they approached Jorrvaskr.

Bishop ushered her inside without stopping by the back yard – it was probably for the best, her strength was leaving her fast. And she still needed to eat something despite her weariness and the cold seeping through her bones.

“Pup! You’re back,” Vilkas’s voice greeted them as soon as they entered the building.

He outstretched his arms and grinned amicably in greeting before he noticed her weakened state.

“You don’t look so good, pup. What’d the mongrel do to you?” his eyes narrowed at Bishop as he hurried to look over Aeyrin, placing a hand on her forehead with a worried expression.

“N-nothing… I’m just…” Aeyrin sighed, slumping a bit more in Bishop’s grip.

“She’s sick. She needs a place to rest for a while, so get out of the way,” Bishop spat at Vilkas and ushered her past him towards the bedrooms.

“Sick? What happened to take the Dragonborn down?” Vilkas chuckled lightly, following them at a brisk pace before he noticed that the rush was unnecessary to keep up with them.

“Cold…” Aeyrin muttered with a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

“Cold? Ha! Who gets sick from cold?” Vilkas laughed heartily, making her groan in frustration – she knew they would make fun of her, all of them acting so tough all the time.

She wanted to remind Vilkas of her stellar victory in their sparring match, but talking was getting a bit straining.

“People who aren’t born in it, ice-brain,” Bishop growled at him, avoiding eye contact with the Nord to pointedly insinuate that the Companion was beneath his attention.

“Surprised _you’re_ still kicking, mongrel. Would have thought something’d have killed you by now,” Vilkas narrowed his eyes at Bishop again with a derisive scoff in his voice.

“I’m not that easy to kill, I thought you’d know,” Bishop smirked. He never told Aeyrin about Vilkas’s behavior back in the Brittleshin Pass – it wasn’t like he thought _she_ was in any danger from that idiot and he could take care of himself.

Vilkas didn’t answer, perhaps not certain of what Bishop did and did not share with Aeyrin, but his hateful stare said it all.

They made their way into the basement area, encountering only Njada on the way, who pointedly ignored them.

Bishop wondered for a while where to take her.

The common rooms they ordinarily used for sleeping were not quiet enough for her to rest comfortably.

The only places she could have some peace were the rooms of the Companions in the Inner Circle – and he’d be damned if he put her in a room with one of the drooling brothers.

Bishop ushered her into Aela’s room, her confused expression noticeably tired.

“Be of some use and get Aela,” he barked at Vilkas who kept following them closely.

He didn’t leave even as Bishop laid her onto Aela’s bed and draped her blanket over her. He noticed Vilkas still leering behind him. Didn’t he fucking tell him to leave?

Well, there was one way to annoy him enough and hopefully drive him away.

Aeyrin opened her eyes slightly with a grateful smile directed at Bishop. He leaned in and gave her a brief kiss, fully aware of Vilkas’s gaze on them.

He didn’t look back at him but he could feel his eyes almost burning a hole in the back of his head.

…

She vaguely registered the voices in the room – she recognized Bishop’s voice coming from the foot of the bed and a woman’s voice from the doorway – likely Aela.

After some time, she felt the touch of Bishop’s lips on her forehead and his hand stroking over her hair briefly. He murmured something, but she didn’t hear anymore, her weariness getting the better of her.

She woke a few times since – either with feel of a warm wet rag on her forehead or a waterskin being pressed to her lips.

The weariness was getting better with sleep but the cold was unceasing.

It was a vicious cycle – the cold made her shiver uncontrollably which exhausted her weakened body which then in turn was more susceptible to cold.

But there was nothing else she could do then wait for Bishop to free her from this state.

She remembered a child’s tale she read in the temple – a story of a countess’s daughter being cursed by a witch from the north. The only way to break the curse was to receive a true love’s kiss – in the end a young knight who watched her before from afar freed her from the illness.

The story somewhat reminded her of her situation, but she didn’t know about true love… she always wondered how could there be any love between the knight and the girl when they didn’t even really know each other. They never even talked. She’s spent several months with Bishop – the two of them together practically constantly, but she still wouldn’t dare to consider such emotions yet.

She wondered how one could tell.

What she _did_ know, however, was that the cold wasn’t so unbearable when he held her and touched her and kissed her… She knew he needed to go look for the ingredients but she missed him taking care of her anyways.

She knew he could be caring, not just about her, about Karnwyr and anyone he didn’t particularly despise, but it was still rather surprising how much he fussed over her.

Although he also probably wanted her to be healthy as soon as possible not only for her benefit, but travelling with an exhausted, freezing, useless zombie was probably not his idea of fun.

…

“Morning… or evening. Feeling better?” Aela gave her a small smile when she opened her eyes after a long rest.

Aeyrin gave a weak nod, sitting up in the bed with some effort.

“A little. Thanks,” she managed to give Aela a light smile.

“Don’t know how much you remember. Bishop left you in here, and apparently I was lucky enough to get stuck on invalid duty,” Aela gave her a feigned annoyed glance before chuckling and ruffling her hair gently.

“Not that I mind. Besides anyone can take over if I need to stretch my legs,” she smiled at her.

“Bishop went off to look for the ingredients, of course... hasn’t been back yet but I suppose he’ll come back for the night. I’ve just been giving you some water and changing the rag so far. Hungry?”

Aeyrin nodded at her and Aela turned to the small table by the foot of the bed to pass her a plate of some spiced beef and grilled leeks she apparently brought into the room earlier.

“You know, he does seem decidedly less morose and growly than the last time. He didn’t even sneer at me once since he brought you here,” Aela laughed and she took away the cloth still stuck to Aeyrin’s forehead.

Aeyrin chuckled lightly. Maybe it was because he was worried about her… or more likely because she wasn’t trying to ignore him and distance herself.

“Yeah… he’s… been really great,” she smiled more to herself than anything.

“I noticed you two seem almost joined at the hip,” Aela chuckled again, poking into Aeyrin’s arm playfully, making her weak body stagger slightly.

Aeyrin flushed, what did that phrase even mean? Surely not what she was imagining….

“I… guess. We’ve been through a lot together since we left here,” she fiddled with her food for a bit, not expecting her conversation with Aela to get this personal. They mostly only ever discussed their adventures together and once she asked Aeyrin about her faith, but not extensively.

“You look happy. Despite your condition. So does he, for that matter,” Aela gave her a gentle smile before taking on a pondering look.

“Maybe he’d be more willing to join our ranks now. He certainly seemed less adverse to talk to me before… then again he might have just been worried I would take out my annoyance with him on you,” she chuckled again. “Not that I would. I still think I’m gonna ask him again though. Unless… you’d have a problem with it?”

Aela threw her an uncertain look, seemingly more worried than she would expect her to be.

“Of course not… why would I?” Aeyrin looked at her in confusion. That way she could take work offered to the Companions and still go dungeon delving with Bishop the way she preferred. But it hardly seemed like something he would do – becoming a part of this community, or any other for that matter, would seem out of character.

Not to mention, she was pretty sure he still disliked most of them.

“Well… the whole shit where you eat thing. Last time it seemed to do you good to be away from him on the jobs,” Aela shrugged a bit uncertainly, obviously prodding for elaboration.

“Oh… n-no… I was just trying to… never mind. It wouldn’t be a problem. But I still don’t think he’ll accept,” Aeyrin gave her a wry smile, she didn’t really want to get into everything that went down with them back when she joined the Companions. Not to mention, as happy as she was that her relationship with Aela seemed more friendly and comfortable, the weariness was starting to get to her again.

“Well we’ll see. No harm in trying,” Aela shrugged again with a carefree smile, brushing her hand through her long auburn hair.

“Why do you want him to join so badly, anyways?” she chuckled a bit, finally managing to chew through her food, passing the plate to Aela bashfully.

“He’s an excellent hunter and he does well in battle. We’re always eager for good warriors,” Aela nodded rather noncommittally.

It seemed strange that she would be so eager for new members. The others often complained about lack of work – bringing more people in would only make the situation worse.

Aeyrin nodded rather than questioning further, her eyes having some trouble to stay open.

“Rest for a while. I’ll wake you to wash up later,” she gave another gentle smile and she got up from the bed – she really was rather friendly. Aeyrin liked this side of her. Maybe once she’s better, she could actually be someone to talk to… when she couldn’t talk to Bishop… or rather someone to talk to _about_ Bishop. She could always confide in him, but there were so many things that were too embarrassing to discuss with him.

She remembered the scene at the White Phial… if she had someone like Aela with her, she could have avoided so much humiliation.

…

Aeyrin fell asleep rather fast after Aela left.

She vaguely remembered being woken up some time later and led to the bathing room.

Aela left her to wash up and stayed by the door, urging her to call if she felt too weak or tired. Luckily she had enough strength to manage to take care of herself. She didn’t reckon their friendship was on a level _that_ intimate.

She wasn’t sure any friendship of hers ever would… she _did_ bathe with Bishop before… but there was hardly any actual bathing involved back then.

Well, at least the memory warmed her up.

She managed to dress herself but the weariness was getting worse again and she barely got out of the door – Aela had to support her all the way back to the room where she slumped down in the bed helplessly and fell asleep immediately.

She only stirred briefly after that to a familiar body curling around her, warming her for the night.

She had no idea how late it was but since he didn’t give her anything to drink, she assumed the search for the ingredients would take some more time.

…

“What is this, a nursery? Why are you all fussing over her? If she’s sick leave her at the temple,” loud voice from the hallway disrupted her sleep.

She recognized Ria – the most junior member of the Companions, well, except for her that is.

“Don’t concern yourself, whelp. You can involve yourself once you actually prove yourself,” Vilkas’s voice boomed through the hallway.

She opened her eyes to an empty room.

Both Bishop and Aela were gone already.

Vilkas entered the room with his brother on his heel momentarily, carrying a tray of food and a tankard of mead.

“Morning, pup,” Vilkas gave her a kind smile as she sat up; he placed the tray on her lap encouragingly while Farkas grinned at her.

“Mead’s good for strength. We tell all the little ones that milk’s better, but it’s just so that there’s more mead left for us,” he laughed heartily, setting himself on the ground by the bed.

“Thanks…” she smiled bashfully, Ria’s outburst still echoing in her head.

“You know… you don’t have to fuss over me… I can actually…” she sighed, not really sure herself how to continue – she was hardly able to take care of herself. It was humiliating, having to rely on others for the simplest things.

She didn’t mind as much with Bishop, but she felt like such an imposition to the Companions.

“From what we hear, you can’t actually do anything,” Vilkas smirked.

“Don’t worry about it, pup. We know you elfies are a bit more… feeble,” Farkas snickered eliciting a laugh from his brother.

Of course, he was enjoying that. For some reason, she felt he was still a bit upset over his loss during their sparring, even without Shouting.

She didn’t answer, feeling a bit less like she was teased and a bit more like she was antagonized. There was an odd tension in the ear that she could not quite put a finger on.

“So, pup… the mongrel seems to be taking advantage of your condition,” Vilkas scoffed derisively after a while, narrowing his eyes.

Hers widened in surprise, ‘taking advantage’? What did he mean?

“W-what are you talking about?” she raised an eyebrow at him, digging into the piece of meat pie they brought for breakfast.

“Maybe she doesn’t even remember…” Farkas scowled deeply, shaking his head in disapproval, making her choke on her food a bit.

What did they mean? As if Bishop did anything to her without her knowledge! As if he needed to! They were pretty intimate already and if it wasn’t for the illness… well… she didn’t really get a chance to use that tincture so far, but once she’s cured...

“Pup, last time you were here… you seemed pretty cold to his pathetic attempts. Now he seems to act as if that were not true. We just wanted to tell you first, in case you wanted us to tear him limb from limb _after_ he finds those ingredients,” Vilkas practically snarled.

“Aela just told us he snuck into the room at night… pup, are you alright? You’re hardly in any condition to defend yourself, but you can still Shout right?” Farkas leaned his head towards her worriedly, looking over her expression carefully.

Gods, was it really not obvious?

Why would they even start a conversation like this?

Maybe they really were just worried.

“N-no… it’s fine. We… well… don’t worry about it. He’s not doing anything… against my will,” she stuttered, blushing furiously, the cold dissipating a bit in her heated embarrassment – that was an upside.

“Would you even know…” Farkas’s frown still didn’t disappear as he studied her carefully.

She gave him an incredulous look, making him recoil a bit.

“Pup, you really think it’s a good idea to get involved with someone like him? I have a bad feeling about him. Trust me, I have a nose for people,” Vilkas placed his hand on her shoulder a gave her a meaningful look.

What was with them? Why would they even care who she involved herself with?

Bishop did mention before that they were ‘pawing’ at her and such, but she never thought they would actually harbor anything towards her than friendship. After all, they always made fun of her and rarely listened to her. They even seemed to despise the fact that she was an elf and it sometimes felt like they thought her weak just for that fact.

“You don’t even know him,” she shook her head at Vilkas, really hating the direction the conversation was taking.

“I know enough, pup. He acts as if he owns you.”

Well… that was a little far-fetched. She _did_ notice some possessiveness in him ever since their relationship got more intimate, however it wasn’t as if she couldn’t say the same of herself. She knew all too well how strangely angry she felt every time she saw him somehow seemingly close to another woman – like Susanna or that dark-haired woman in Morthal. She never felt like that about anyone before and only ascribed it to her caring for the man, no matter how ugly an emotion jealousy was considered. She could hardly blame him for the same.

“Really… I’m… I’m sure about him,” she smiled at them reassuringly, then looking down at her food again, hoping the conversation was over.

“Well, we’ll be watching him either way, pup,” Vilkas nodded resolutely.

It was starting to make her a bit insulted. Sure, she was helpless now, but other than that, she could take care of herself and use her own judgement.

She was much more certain about her own feelings about people than theirs.

After all, they hardly ever spoke to him, outside of snide remarks and hateful glares.

…

The brothers stayed with her for a while yet, luckily not mentioning Bishop anymore.

She fell asleep pretty soon during their tales of new adventures.

She remembered being woken up a few times then for drink or food, but didn’t really recall by who.

She only felt lucid again when Aela brought her dinner and took her to the bathing room.

She asked her about Bishop’s hunt for ingredients after they got back to the room, but she said he hadn’t been back all day.

She was starting to worry – did he not find them? Where did he go to look further?

“I’m sure he’ll manage. You’ll be back on your feet in no time,” Aela smiled at her kindly, taking her empty tray away from her.

“I hope so… I didn’t think it would take this long.” Aeyrin sighed nervously, palming her amulet for a bit. The tingle of magic warmed her hand nicely, if only slightly.

“I noticed that before. Where did you get it?” Aela eyed the necklace for a bit, looking over the downturned chalice.

“Oh. It’s an amulet of Stendarr. The old one got… destroyed. Bishop actually managed to get me this one – priests in Cyrodiil wear it at times,” she smiled at the amulet affectionately.

“Ah. I was wondering where your previous one went. You never seemed to take it off.” 

Aeyrin only nodded.

Aela asked her about the amulet before, seemingly somewhat intrigued by her faith.

Maybe she was herself in need of some spiritual touchstone.

“You mentioned that you grew up in a temple. You must know a lot about Stendarr,” Aela smiled at her with interest, still eyeing the necklace.

“Yeah… I think so. His followers are mostly concerned with helping anyone who is in need,” she bundled herself back into the furs, Aela’s gaze seemed to be so focused on the amulet, it was starting to get a bit uncomfortable.

“Right. And eliminating the Daedra,” Aela added almost reverently, catching Aeyrin a bit off guard for a spell.

“R-right. I suppose. Doesn’t everyone try to do that?” she asked.

She knew that Stendarr’s teachings were full of warnings about the Daedra, but so were any other scripts about the Eight Divines… maybe a bit less, but still. She never really considered it the ‘main goal’ of the church, rather simply part of helping people in danger.

“Hmmm… not with such fervor. Do you not have the Vigilants down south?” Aela asked curiously.

“Vigilants?” she never heard of any ‘Vigilants’ before. The priests and paladins took ‘vigils’ but she wasn’t sure if Aela meant the same thing.

“They’re an order of paladins, I believe. They make it their mission to eliminate whatever they think abominable – Daedra, vampires, were-creatures…”

Aeyrin thought for a bit. She knew the paladins had different orders but she was never really very familiar with most of them. As far as she knew, no such order existed in Cyrodiil.

“I don’t think they’re down south. But we do have paladins who travel around and help people with their fighting skills more than healing and prayer,” Aeyrin answered ponderingly.

The lucidity was getting a bit tiring for her, but she never really got a chance to discuss Stendarrites in Skyrim before.

“Were you one of them?” Aela’s eyes widened eagerly. She looked positively enthralled.

“No… I left the temple before taking the final steps towards paladinhood… or priesthood,” Aeyrin shook her head, noticing the disappointment in Aela’s face.

“Did you ever want to join the Vigilants, Aela?” she asked after a while.

Her fascination was surprising, but it was likely that she considered the abominations they hunted a very worthy prey.

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Aela said wistfully, looking again at the spot on the blanket where the amulet would be.

“Is it real silver?” she asked with a sly smile.

“I… think so. They traditionally are,” Aeyrin answered, not really sure why it mattered.

“Silver against the lycants huh?” Aela gave her a wink.

That never actually occurred to her, but it could be a likely reason for the material choice.

Aela got up from the bed, a strange smile on her face as she took the tray.

“Thank you for indulging me, Aeyrin. You should rest now,” she nodded kindly and left the room.

…

She stirred as she felt herself be pulled up to a sitting position.

It was so dark… well, it was always dark in the basement, but all the lights and torches around were clearly extinguished – everyone must have been already asleep.

She noticed Bishop’s large frame sitting next to her, his arm draped over her shoulder, steadying her.

“You awake, princess?” he murmured quietly to her ear, the hand draped over her moving to brush the messy hair from her face.

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, still a bit groggy from her sleep.

“Never thought I’d be happy to say this, but it’s time to get you out of bed,” he chuckled, a hint of glass glinting in his other hand as he raised the potion bottle to her face.

Her eyes went wide with excitement and she pressed her hands around the flask tentatively.

Bishop didn’t let go of it, probably worried it might slip from her weakened fingers.

She drank the rather unpleasant liquid eagerly as he smiled at her in obvious relief.

When she finished the entire thing, he merely placed the bottle away and dragged her with him back down to the bed.

“It’ll take some time, but you’ll be back to normal soon,” he murmured again against her ear settling her against him.

She was still too tired and expected to have to curb his excitement but she heard soft regular breathing after only a second.

Did he fall asleep? He must have been exhausted himself.

She brushed her hand against his chest happily, the relief washing over in a pleasant wave.


	51. A Desperate Plea

“What’s going on?” he finally heard Aela’s voice behind him as he watched Aeyrin close her eyes in weariness.

He sat at the foot of the bed, turning his gaze to the Nord woman before explaining.

“She got… sick. She contracted something when she almost froze over. Apparently it’s a thing. I need to go get some rare ingredients for the cure, but she’s too weak to do anything. Someone needs to watch over her while I’m gone,” he sighed, looking back at Aeyrin who at times seemed to try to open her eyes but failed.

“And I got chosen for this honor?” Aela smirked at him teasingly.

“Come on… I don’t think it’ll take long. Leaving her here’s the best option. Besides, she’s mostly just resting anyways,” he nodded at Aela, hoping she wouldn’t make an issue of it. He wanted to get back to his search already.

“I’d think Farkas or Vilkas would be much more eager to…” Aela started before he interrupted her with a scowl.

“Fuck off.”

She gave a hearty laugh at his reaction but nodded at him eventually: “Fine. I can do that. Not like there’s a lot of work now anyways.”

He got up from the bed looking over Aeyrin again.

“Thanks,” he sighed, leaning over her. She looked so peaceful as she was falling asleep, but whenever she was awake, he saw the strain and worry on her face. He placed a kiss on her cold forehead gently and stroked over her hair briefly.

“Just hang in there, princess. I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, not really concerned whether she could hear him anymore.

He gave another nod to Aela as he straightened up – she had her eyebrow arched at his behavior, reminding him that the last time she saw them together they were hardly friendly.

Well, not like it was any of her business.

He left the room briskly, not wanting to waste any more time.

…

He headed straight towards the apothecary – Arcadia’s Cauldron.

He’s visited the place once or twice before, the owner was really knowledgeable about various cures and she was an Imperial who moved in Skyrim from down south – it was likely she needed some ingredients for her recipes collected back in Cyrodiil.

He arrived to the building just as he noticed the woman locking up the door from the outside.

Strange – it was barely past midday.

“Hey. You’re locking up? I need to buy some things,” he approached her, unable to hide his frustration.

“Oh. Sorry, I have some deliveries to make. Some are urgent. I’ll be back to open up before sundown,” she gave him a reassuring smile and continued to secure the door.

Fuck. He didn’t want to wait anymore.

It’s not that she couldn’t spend more time resting, but he found himself missing her energy and talking to her much more than he thought he would.

“Look, I just need two ingredients for a cure, but they’re from Cyrodiil – can’t just get those anywhere…” he grumbled, making the alchemist look at him ponderingly.

“I _did_ get a few cross-border shipments yesterday. One from Cyrodiil. But it will take me some time to go through the crates and I really have to make these deliveries. Sorry,” she gave him a sympathetic look.

Fuck, she was stubborn.

Well, if nothing else, he could make the process faster.

“Fine. I’ll help,” he groaned. Now he sounded like Aeyrin.

“What?” she raised his brows at him in surprise.

“I’ll help you deliver the shit. Give me half, it’ll go faster,” he gestured at her impatiently.

“How would I even know you won’t toss them on the side of the road or something?” she huffed at him incredulously.

“Look, you can poison me later if you have any complaints. I need those ingredients, so why would I fuck myself? Just give me the shit,” he rolled his eyes and looked at her skeptical face expectantly.

She sighed and passed him a few parcels with names and locations written on them.

…

Bishop spent way more time than he anticipated running around the town delivering the parcels.

A few hours later he returned to the apothecary, which was blessedly open now.

He found the alchemist inside, looking through several crates frantically.

She spared him a glance before returning to the crates with a crease between her brows.

“I’ll be damned…” she muttered.

Fuck, that didn’t sound good.

“What?” he grumbled in annoyance, anticipating yet another hitch in his search.

“The crate from Cyrodiil isn’t here. I bet it was those damned Khajiit again…” she cursed.

He gave her a questioning frown as she got up with a groan, explaining. “I have the crates delivered to the stables; they stay there for some time before I get a chance to send someone to bring them here. Several times already one was missing, only for those damned cats from the caravan to have it when I came looking by the stables. They never take anything from it and they always say that it was forgotten and they kept it safe from thieves. I don’t know why they do this…” she shook her head in frustration.

Bishop swore loudly. More running around…

“Fuck… fine. I’ll go check with them,” he didn’t wait for her answer and left the store.

He did notice some tents by the lower gate when they reached the city that morning but no Khajiit and he didn’t really pay attention to the contents of the camp.

But why would they take the crate without stealing anything?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

…

“Warm sands, smooth-skin. What may Ri’saad do for you?” the man gave him a grin as he approached.

His eyes scanned through the camp, noting a large crate by one of the tents – it looked the same as those that Arcadia was going through in her shop.

“I’m here for the alchemist’s crate,” he crossed his arms over his chest sternly, waiting expectantly for the Khajiit to react.

“Ah. Of course. We have kept it safe here for the lady to claim it,” Ri’saad smiled kindly, motioning for him to take the crate without any hassle.

That was weird.

They must have wanted something with the goods.

“Did you take anything?” Bishop narrowed his eyes. They might have taken the ingredients he needed after all.

“We never do. We are honest peddlers after all. You may ask the alchemist lady herself,” Ri’saad chuckled at him, giving him another friendly smile.

“Then why the fuck would you take the crate? She said you do that all the time, what’s in it for you?” Bishop kept pressing, convinced that they stole something.

Ri’saad only grinned as another Khajiit approached them.

“Do not be so suspicious, smooth-skin. This Khajiit is Atahbah. The alchemist’s friends are forgetful. Always leaving one or two crates behind. We do not even want to think what happens to them when our caravan is not around,” the woman opened the crate and showed him that it was filled with packets.

She then approached him with a sly smile, purring in a low voice: “Incidentally, friend… if you are in search for some… other goods. We may provide…”

Well, he knew what that meant, the purpose of stealing the crate suddenly clear.

“You’re smuggling sugar in those crates…” he sighed in realization, thankful that Aeyrin wasn’t with him right then.

“Never, smooth-skin. It is as Ri’saad says… we are honest peddlers,” Ri’saad grinned again mischievously.

Well, they seemed to be at ease around him at least.

He probably didn’t look like someone who would rat them out. He himself knew that people from… similar circles often had a nose for anyone from the same profession. His years with thieves and bandits hardly hid his own… shadiness.

“I’ll just take the crate,” he nodded as the Khajiit gave him a slightly disappointed look.

…

_~~Mandrake root~~ _

_~~Blue dartwing~~ _

_~~Emperor parasol moss~~ _

_~~Slough fern spore pod~~ _

_~~Red lichen~~ _

_~~Giant lichen~~ _

_Foxglove nectar_

_._

Still one ingredient left.

At least Arcadia let him have the mandrake root for free for all his services.

The rest of the shops were closed already, however, and Arcadia had no other tips on where to get the foxglove nectar aside from the pawnbroker, which was a long shot.

He headed towards Jorrvaskr, starving and feeling somewhat defeated.

He did hope that he’d already have all the ingredients by now.

He ran into Karnwyr at the town square, the wolf noticeably annoyed with Bishop’s lack of attention to his preferred activities – no running around the wilderness or hunting.

Well, he’d just have to make do. Hopefully it would not drag on beyond the next day.

He rubbed the wolf behind his ear apologetically and entered the halls of Jorrvaskr.

He ate something at one of the feast tables, pointedly ignoring all the present Companions except for Athis, who he nodded at in greeting.

He spent some time in the bath before returning to Aela’s room.

The Nord looked somewhat tired, but waited for him patiently as Aeyrin slept in her bed.

They stayed quiet, Bishop only shaking his head at her to signal his lack of success in getting the cure together. She nodded solemnly, leaving the room to them and heading towards the common quarters.

Or maybe to Skjor’s room – he did hear some rumors from Athis before, but didn’t really care about the Companion’s dalliances.

Bishop looked over Aeyrin’s sleeping form, huddled in the fur blankets.

She was still pale and shivering.

Fuck, this couldn’t go on. He needed to get the last ingredient the next day… even if it meant talking to _her_.

He loathed the idea, but if it were necessary, he’d _beg_ her for help.

He’d done things he hated so much more for a person he cared about before… at least this time, he could get out of it with a clear conscience and no blood on his hands.

He crawled into the bed, pressing the elf against him and running his hand over her arms briskly to warm her up a bit.

Tomorrow, he would get her back to normal.

Whatever it took.

He wasn’t going to lose her to a fucking disease… not like he lost _him_.

…

Aeyrin was still asleep when he left.

He made sure she was tucked in properly, stroking over her hair and murmuring some words of reassurance in case she could hear.

He couldn’t even help himself… she looked so vulnerable, his instincts kicked in.

He remembered all too well the helplessness when Jules was in such dire condition during his last days.

This time he could do something. This time, he could make it right, and he damn well would.

He grabbed some dried meat at the main hall, eating on the way without losing any more time.

He headed for Belethor’s shop immediately.

He wondered for a while if praying really worked – he always saw it only as delusion before. Now that he knew Aeyrin, he started to understand that it may have been more to achieve some peace of mind than anything. But maybe it really did do something. The Divines were real after all, he just never really believed they cared about anything that happened in Mundus.

And even if they did, they’d hardly ever want to help someone like him.

People like Aeyrin would be the only ones deserving of any divine intervention, not because she followed their teachings, but because of what she did, who she was.

Someone like her would never stoop to the things he did… she’d never understand… she’d never forgive him if she knew.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be understood or forgiven, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her about his past either way.

The thought of losing her because of the mistakes he did was… heartbreaking.

He already lost Jules because of his own idiocy.

…

To his dismay, Belethor had only one suggestion for cross-border goods besides Arcadia.

Bishop paced in front of the small house.

He felt his knees grow heavy with every step.

He wasn’t one to grovel. He did once before… and what good did it do?

He sighed, clenching his hand into a fist to knock on the door.

No… not yet.

_Fuck, stop being such a fucking coward._

He took another deep breath and finally knocked briefly, internally kind of hoping she wasn’t home.

He heard the steps approaching the door from the inside.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. Calm down._

The door opened and a deep scowl appeared on the woman’s face the second she spotted him.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?! Leave!” she slammed the door, but he expected that, lodging his foot behind the threshold.

The force of the impact was rather strong, but his boots were luckily sturdy enough.

“Ysolda, wait,” he said, his voice so somber it surprised even him.

“What do you want from me?!” she barked at him, opening the door but not making any motions to invite him inside.

She stood in the doorframe, her arms folded across her chest and a hateful glare on her face.

Fuck, she was going to let him have it after what he was about to say.

“I need… a favor.”

Her scoff was piercing, her scowl deepening.

“Why the fuck would I do _you_ any favors? Get away from me already!” she tried to slam the door again but his boot was still readied by the threshold.

She slammed a few times more for good measure but he hardly felt it.

“Ysolda, I have nowhere else to go. I just need an ingredient from Cyrodiil. You’ll _never_ hear from me again after… please,” he muttered the last word through gritted teeth.

She scoffed derisively again, shaking her head at him resolutely.

“I can pay,” he gave her the most pleading look he could muster, but the words seemed to break something in her even more, the anger now laced with deep sorrow.

“ _You_ should have been the one to pay a long time ago, Bishop,” her voice quivered and there were hints of tears in her eyes – a sorrow, long thought buried, resurfacing at the sight of him before her.

Something inside him was screaming, to tell her that it wasn’t his fault, to tell her that everyone made their own choices, that he warned them, tried to save them.

But they had this screaming match before – his excuses made things worse.

And that was it – they _were_ excuses.

He knew.

He knew it was _his_ fault.

This life was of his own making and he was the one to drag her into it.

And someone else paid the price.

He would never admit it to himself, but now… the fear of it happening again paralyzed him.

Only now that he knew how much he could lose again he realized it was his own doing. The mistakes he made in the past would never allow him to find… happiness… affection… forgiveness.

But as much as he realized this… he couldn’t tear himself away.

Not from _her_.

Something about her gave him… hope.

“It’s… not for me…” Bishop lowered his gaze, as if that would convince her… she had no reason to help anyone he knew. 

Ysolda watched his face for a while, now seemingly more worried than angry.

She couldn’t… sympathize with him after everything, could she?

“I saw you yesterday with that elven girl. I guess she didn’t take my warning seriously…” Ysolda sighed bitterly.

“What?” Bishop returned his eyes to hers – what warning did she talk about?

“I saw you with her before. I warned her to stay away, but I guess she didn’t listen to a stranger,” she shook her head rather sadly.

Bishop felt a measure of both panic and relief wash over him. Ysolda talked to Aeyrin? Did she tell her what happened? Did Aeyrin know? And stayed with him?

“You… told her?” he sputtered disbelievingly, earning a disgusted scoff from Ysolda.

“No… but I should have. Maybe she would have listened then!”

The strange hopeful feeling dissipated in an instant. Nothing changed, she didn’t know. And he still needed to cure her.

“She… needs help,” he sighed in defeat, hoping that Ysolda’s warning was at the very least a sign of sympathy for Aeyrin.

“You want to help her? Then leave her. Let her hate you before your ‘friends’ come for her. I wish every single day you had the decency to do that to me!” a tear escaped from her eye and she wiped it away hurriedly, her face a perfect mixture of sorrow, anger and hatred.

Bishop was at a loss for words.

Everything she said was ringing in his ears unpleasantly.

He knew she was right.

They’ve only been together for a few months and it was never anything serious – no deep affectionate feelings, no… love.

Just… fun and convenience.

But he liked her. It ended before it could turn into more. Not that he was even willing to entertain _that_ idea.

But it ended well.

She found someone. Someone she cared for. Someone she loved.

And then… _they_ decided to rewrite the ending.

She was luckier than she knew – she never strayed far from Falkreath, they had to reach her there.

The guards helped her – too late, but then again not too late for her to avoid a much more dire fate if they dragged her to Thorn’s hideout.

He told her to leave. To leave her life behind and get away from Falkreath forever.

But _he…_ her fiancé… he could never leave well enough alone.

He understood. If anyone hurt Aeyrin like that, he’d make sure they suffered worse than if they were thrown to the fiery lakes of the Deadlands, tortured by dremoras for eternity.

But Bishop warned him that he didn’t stand a chance.

He knew he would die.

And he did.

“Yeah… me too,” Bishop said quietly, his head downcast.

“And yet, here we are. You never learn, do you?” she spat at him bitterly.

“I heard about her. She’s the Dragonborn, right? Must be nice… a girl who can take care of herself. Is that why you’re with her then? Clear conscience and all that? If they find her, it will be just like if she fell in battle, right? Not. Your. Fault.”

Her hateful eyes pierced him as she punctuated the words.

The words that were the only thing he managed to say to her after she lost the person she loved.

Bishop stared at the ground.

He never thought himself a coward, but right there under her hatred and blame, he felt so small.

And every word made his heart clench.

The memories of the things he did, the people he hurt to protect himself and his brother… all to gain their freedom.

But he would never be free from this.

From the past, from Thorn and from the guilt.

He didn’t answer – there was no point, she had all the answers already anyways.

And it wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind – Aeyrin was powerful and perhaps if they prepared enough, they could take down Thorn’s operation.

But that would mean painting an enormous target on their backs.

He’s been gone so long. He didn’t even know how many hideouts he had under his thumb – not to mention the association with the Guild and from what he heard before from rather dubious sources – the Dark Brotherhood.

But those were still speculations.

Truth was, he had no idea what attacking Thorn would involve and how much shit it would bring their way.

The best thing to do was to stay away.

All they needed to do was stay away.

All _he_ needed to do was stay away… but he couldn’t.

Even if he did… it wasn’t as if he could just let her go on her merry way, knowing that she would be alone facing the dragons, any potential threats from the Stormcloaks and for that matter… Thorn could already know about her.

Fuck, even without Bishop in the picture, he might just want to capture the legendary Dragonborn for the sport of it – it wasn’t as if he would care about the fate of the common people with the dragons around.

He couldn’t just leave her.

Or was he just making excuses, because he didn’t _want_ to leave her?

“Just make it quick. I don’t want to look at your face anymore!” Ysolda gritted her teeth, seeing there was no fight in him but that he obviously wasn’t going to leave either.

“I need foxglove nectar. That’s it,” he answered briskly, eager to get away from the interaction himself.

“I don’t have any ingredients here. You can go to my supplier yourself if you want. He’s a trader in Riverwood. _You_ convince him to sell his rare wares however you want. I’m certainly not going with you. You know… rumors of _bandits_ on the roads and all,” she sneered at him with contempt.

Bishop only nodded in response, wondering for a while if he should pay her for the tip, but she probably didn’t want anything of his.

He removed his boot from the door frame as Ysolda threw him one last hateful glare.

“I pray to all the Gods that she has the good sense to leave you. And I hope you pay for what you did with a lifetime of misery.”

She slammed the door in his face, leaving him standing still in front of her house.

He felt like he already did… but maybe that still wasn’t enough. 

…

_~~Mandrake root~~ _

_~~Blue dartwing~~ _

_~~Emperor parasol moss~~ _

_~~Slough fern spore pod~~ _

_~~Red lichen~~ _

_~~Giant lichen~~ _

_~~Foxglove nectar~~ _

_._

It was already dark and it took all his money to convince the trader to part with a batch from his goods he sold specifically to other traders.

He wasn’t going to wait anymore though.

He knocked on the locked door of the apothecary, not really caring whether the alchemist would be mad at him.

He needed to end this.

He needed to see her, like she was before – he needed her to smile at him, to laugh, to kiss him.

To make his thoughts shut up.

To give him hope that he deserved something more than spite and hate in his life.

Hope that he didn’t have to be alone.

“Oh. It’s you. It’s late,” Arcadia narrowed his eyes at him.

“I need you to make the cure for me,” Bishop asked hurriedly.

“Come tomorrow,” Arcadia nodded and turned on her heel before he caught her by the wrist.

He could demand she did it now, he could threaten her, he could promise to pay her later…

“I need it now… please,” he felt like the words leave his mouth even without his knowledge.

He must have looked pathetic.

Arcadia’s face turned from stony to… sympathetic?

She stepped inside, leaving the door standing open, heading towards her alchemy station.

…

He watched the fur blankets rise and fall periodically with her soft breathing.

He felt like he was in a trance – all he could think of was lying beside her, her affectionate smile aimed at him.

He would forget about Ysolda’s words in her embrace, wouldn’t he?

She always made everything better.

He vaguely recalled propping her up and making her drink the potion in his hand, telling her some reassuring words.

Truth was, he was the one who needed reassuring.

His thoughts swirling with internal conflict – could he really just forget about it again? Could he ever leave her? Or could he ever have enough guts to tell her everything?

Her hand softly brushed against his chest, soothing and calm.

He felt himself starting to drift off, his last thought on how comfortable he was.

How he couldn’t give that up.

Even if it made him a coward. Even if he took away her choice to decide whether to leave or to stay with him.

He was selfish.

He’s always been.

But it was worth it.

It was all worth it for the feeling he got when he was with her.

It was all worth it for feeling loved.


	52. Commendations

“Stop fussing! I can do it!”

She swatted Farkas’s hand away from her mace.

They’ve been spending two more days at Jorrvaskr while Aeyrin was recovering from her illness.

She was gradually regaining her strength and energy back, mostly spending the days fiddling with equipment and lazing around Whiterun with Bishop.

He never told her where he got the ingredients in the end – only mentioned that he had to run around all Whiterun and even to Riverwood before he tracked them down.

She noticed that, ever since then, he got in this strangely pensive mood from time to time, as if he wasn’t really there. But it has been happening less and less – perhaps he was just tired before too.

In the meantime, she actually convinced him to have his armor fixed up and reinforced by a professional smith and she got some tips on her mace from Eorlund – he showed her a technique to sharpen the edges of the head making it all the more deadly.

Farkas and Vilkas have not stopped attempting to help her with every little task, seemingly ignorant of the fact that she needed to work on exercising and stretching her muscles even more after the days of sleeping and resting.

They probably just enjoyed treating her like ‘the feeble elf’ too much to stop.

She wondered if she should challenge one of them to another sparring match just to make it stop.

…

“One more time! You’re going down this time!” Aela shouted at him in frustration as he was twirling the arrow with a tiny bird carcass at its tip in his hand smugly.

“Just give up already. Go back to hunting bunnies,” Bishop laughed at her and put away his bow.

She’s been trying to win an archery contest with him all morning – unsuccessfully, of course.

“Seriously… We could really use-“ Aela shook her head at him with a smirk before he interrupted her.

“Fuck off, already! I am _not_ joining your weird little cult,” he scoffed at her with a level glare while she put away her own weapon.

“Cult? What makes the Companions a cult?” she shook her head admonishingly.

“Well for one, you all dress the same,” he laughed before continuing. “And you’re all obsessed with the honor and Ysgramor shit. Honor this, honor that… I’d rather spend my time getting _‘on her’,_ ” with a smirk he inclined his head towards Aeyrin sitting at the other side of the back yard, fiddling with her mace and a whetstone.

“And he makes bad jokes… perfect Companion material – it’s the place you realize that snarkiness and humor won’t cut it,” she laughed at him again as they went back towards Jorrvaskr.

He was surprised himself just how much he did _not_ mind her company.

Although the constant attempts to talk him into joining the Companions were getting so tiresome.

Why was she so adamant about it? He was hanging around when Aeyrin was there anyways.

Their entire stay with the Companions after Aeyrin’s recovery was surprisingly peaceful and comfortable.

Much to Aeyrin’s surprise, even Bishop seemed to start liking the place to some degree – maybe because of his competitive friendship with Aela.

As if he needed any more ego boosts…

Still, they were both preparing to leave after only a few more days.

Aeyrin was quite cross with Bishop that he never included the temple of Talos when he took her on a tour around Windhelm. He, of course, objected that he never cared about any temples, but she still wanted to visit and discuss the worship of Talos when she actually had the energy to.

Despite his dislike for Windhelm, Bishop didn’t really mind the prospect of getting back on the road – being alone with Aeyrin again for a change – ever since their adventure with the White Phial, they haven’t actually had more than a few conscious minutes together just the two of them.

Aela promptly kicked them from her room once Aeyrin got the cure and they were forced to share the common room with the junior members of the Companions since.

And since there was no influx of money coming their way, the inn was not an option.

…

A loud slam of the door interrupted the merry afternoon feast.

All eyes turned to the guard in the door, the panic in his eyes making the whole hall furrow their brows.

“Companions, Dragonborn! There’s a dragon attacking the farmsteads! We need your help!”

The bulk of the room got up on their feet, aside from some of the junior members who looked around nervously.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for a chance to hunt down one of these beasts,” Aela’s smile got disturbingly predatory. “Whoever gets more shots in wins, ranger!” she winked at Bishop with a smirk.

“You just love losing, woman…” he chuckled a bit, looking over at Aeyrin, searching her face with a bit of concern. It was understandable – she wasn’t back to her full strength just yet, but getting better by the day.

Bishop was blessedly un-patronizing the whole time, unlike the brothers, not constantly hovering over her if she needed help with the simplest things. That way, if she actually did need help, she wasn’t loath to ask him.

She gave him a confident smile.

She wouldn’t have to do all that much with the Companion’s help – the worst part was surviving the dragon’s soul, but just remembering the ordeal she went through near Windhelm and still managed to crawl away from it alive put her more at ease.

Maybe she actually _was_ getting better at handling it.

A person can get used to anything.

“Not a good idea for the pup to join. She’s still recovering,” Vilkas scowled immediately, eliciting an exasperated sigh from her.

“Are you planning on eating its soul instead of her, s’wit?” Athis snorted at him contemptfully.

“She’ll be fine. Let’s go before it burns down the only good meadery around,” Bishop started to buckle his armor hurriedly as the others followed suit in equipping themselves as efficiently as they could.

…

As expected, the battle was over soon – with the combined skill of the Whiterun guards, the Companions and Aeyrin and Bishop, the dragon stood no chance at all.

It was both comforting and disquieting that killing a dragon started to actually feel… mundane.

The consuming of the soul was still a dreadful task, filling her with fright every time – the beasts, however, seemed to pose less risk themselves than their lingering essence.

She still reminded herself that they were yet to best one of them alone – there were always guards, Companions or Khajiit warriors helping the fight, except for the one near High Hrothgar, which eventually retreated.

She clung to Bishop as the searing heat enveloped her fully.

She felt her skin crackle dryly and it felt like chunks of charred flesh started to fall off of her. The tips of all her hairs burned and prickled into her skin like tiny daggers, deep under the skin. Her nose was filled with the strange both sweet and ashy smell of burning fingernails and her lungs seemed constricted with smoke – just like they were in Helgen.

She regained herself in his embrace.

Looking around, she spotted the dumbfounded guards, the worried faces of the Nord brothers and the fascinated looks of the other Companions – especially Aela, who seemed positively enthralled.

“How does it feel?” her mouth stood slightly ajar after she voiced the question, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.

“Like… it’s killing me… on the inside,” Aeyrin huffed out in labored breaths, attempting to calm her still heated body.

“Amazing… a worthy prey indeed,” she smiled, looking over Aeyrin curiously for a bit longer.

“If I were you, I’d be more concerned that you lost again. You were running and hiding the entire time,” Bishop smirked at her smugly as he slowly released the elf from his clutch, still leaving one of his arms around her reassuringly.

“As impressive as ever,” a familiar voice rang behind them.

Aeyrin noticed the Dunmer commander on the field of battle before, but the dragon didn’t really leave them time for reunions.

“It was good to fight alongside you again, Irileth,” Aeyrin gave her a warm smile, finally steadying herself on her feet assuredly.

“Likewise, _Dragonborn_ ,” Irileth punctuated the word, remembering how dismissive she was about her newfound identity back at the watchtower.

“The jarl was relieved when we informed him you were seen back in Whiterun when news of the dragon reached him. He was assured of our victory. He tasked me to take you before him after the battle. I believe he has a matter to discuss with you,” she inclined her head and turned to her guards, instructing them on how to dispose of the dragon skeleton, mentioning something about utilizing the bones and remaining scales.

It seemed that Skyrim was adapting to the harsh times – the dragons now used a source of material.

It was a good thing too – it only meant that no other black dragon could fly by and resurrect the carcass once again. She wasn’t sure if it was possible to resurrect a dragon whose soul she consumed, however supposedly, someone must have consumed those that were alive now before – otherwise they wouldn’t be dead and buried.

It hit her how little she still knew about the beasts.

Perhaps the jarl’s original suggestion to gather some lore at the College of Winterhold wasn’t such a bad idea, even though she already learned of Thu’um from the Greybeards.

…

Who knew that the jarl’s summons would actually involve no requests and no urgent tasks.

Aeyrin still didn’t really understand what a thane was, but the reward she received… she never actually owned anything other than her equipment.

Now she had a house.

An entire house.

She never even lived in a house.

With her father they did spend time in a long abandoned hovel, but they often had to sleep outside, lest someone could get suspicious about their illegal abode. In the chapel, she merely had a small alcove to herself, which was the most privacy she ever had in her somewhat permanent living.

Bishop was going to love that.

A place they could stay even with no money, just the two of them.

He returned to the Jorrvaskr previously, preoccupied with taunting Aela about her lack of archery skills.

It wasn’t as if the jarl asked for him too, but it felt a little strange that he was overlooked – the jarl, after all, gave her the title for both helping at the watchtower and now at the farmsteads, the events that Bishop was both present for.

Well, it wasn’t as if he would be one for appreciating titles. Besides, he would benefit of the reward just like her.

She smiled as she passed the small sapling blooming with beautiful light-pink leaves in the upper square, petting the wolf reclining below it.

He would be free to join them soon enough, but they didn’t dare take him among the Companions, even now that they got more familiar with them.

She entered Jorrvaskr, spotting Bishop rolling his eyes as Athis complained to him about something eagerly.

Why was the elf so intent on pouring his frustrations out to Bishop? He certainly made it obvious that he didn’t care. Then again, he must have at least found it entertaining; otherwise he would hardly let him.

“I have a surprise for you,” she snaked her arms over his neck, squeezing him in his chair from behind as she leaned in towards his ear.

“Mmm? Do tell, sweetness,” he nuzzled his face to her, gripping her entwined arms in his hands.

“Not tell. Show. Come with me,” she planted a brief chaste kiss on his cheek before she released him from her embrace, giving him a wink as she headed outside of the building.

“Even better,” he chuckled mischievously, following her eagerly while ignoring any further rumblings from the Dunmer altogether.

…

Both Bishop and Karnwyr tilted their heads simultaneously in confusion as she stopped in front of the picturesque house right next to the smithy by the gate where she made her old bronze armor. They told her it even had a name. Breezehome.

The jarl mentioned it was furnished, but it likely had only the basic necessities.

She never got to actually decorate anything.

It was a strange and very unpractical prospect, but somehow making the place feel like home filled her with so much warmth.

_Preserve the peace and security of home._

The Companions already provided her with a kind of a home, but having something of her own sounded beyond anything she could have ever imagined.

She rummaged in her pack, producing an ornate key with a sly wink as Bishop’s brows shot up.

“So apparently, I’m now something called… thane? And that goes with actually owning property in Whiterun,” she chuckled as they entered the house.

The inside was austere, but cozy – there was a small central fireplace with a cookpot over it close by the door and a few cabinets and tables, including a large dining one in the back of the room. There was a bathing tub under the wooden stairs, set inside the stony ground.

It was all rather cramped together, but there seemed to be other rooms, not to mention the second floor.

They continued to look over the adjacent small room in the back of the entry hall.

It had a small library and a table with some enchanting and alchemy equipment. That was very convenient. Although neither of them actually knew how to enchant or do alchemy, it was a perfect place to learn.

They continued to the second floor – there were only several cupboards around and two doors.

The small one led into a cramped little room with one bed in it, but the other one…

The bedroom looked so cozy. Fur blankets were lined everywhere on the large bed, and the tilted roof above the side walls of the room created a charming sanctuary.

“Wow… this place is…” Aeyrin sighed with unbridled joy at her new home.

She already imagined using the reward money from the jarl to brighten the place with flowers and maybe find some nice way to display her old armors. For now, she only still carried the bronze one with her, but it would have been a shame to just get rid of it after the hard work she put into it and it was not like she ever found anyone of similar proportions to pass it onto.

Before she could ponder further, she was suddenly lifted up and thrown on the double bed, the fall softened by the large amount of furs as she yelped out in surprise.

“The bed needs testing,” Bishop practically pounced on her, pinning her down on the bed beneath his large frame.

She giggled at his antics, but was soon silenced as he started to kiss her wildly, a low whine and dejected patting of paws on the wooden floorboards as the wolf left them alone was the only other sound in the room.

She draped his tunic over his head eagerly as his hands roamed under her own, playing with her breasts under the fabric.

She did mix the canis root tincture into her waterskin the previous day, but she didn’t tell him yet. As excited and curious as she was, she really imagined a more… spectacular scene for that. Some serene place in the wilds of Skyrim just seemed so much more fitting for the two of them.

It was rather silly to dwell on such things, but she couldn’t help but want it to be more special.

He was special to her after all, more than anyone has ever been.

That didn’t mean there was no room for some excitement until then though.

She groaned a as he rubbed himself against her firmly, disposing of her shirt in one quick motion.

He nipped at her skin with eager little bites while she ran her hands over his torso and back, sliding down to his abdomen with light teasing brushes.

He pushed himself up away from her in order to take off their remaining clothes, standing by the bed and grabbing her wrists, slinging her across to press her against his chest in one fluid motion.

He smirked at her surprised gasp at the sudden motion as he pressed her even tighter to him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her hands hooking behind his neck and leaning up to him into a deep frantic kiss.

He gripped her backside in his hands, squeezing her firm form and forcing her on her tiptoes as she moved her mouth down his neck, planting open mouth kisses on his skin, their hungry movements pinning him against the bedside cupboard.

She moved her hand back to his abdomen, untangling his fastenings and running her hand over his length, freeing him from his leather trousers. She felt him rumble deep in his throat in pleasure at her touch while she concentrated on running her fingers over every inch of him, her thumb strumming over the tip of him teasingly, her lips running over his pleasantly scratchy jawline.

He watched her bite into his collarbone lightly and ran his hand through her hair, making a fist in her locks and turning her head up to him.

“You wanna try something new, princess?” he asked with low growl as his other hand stopped her strokes.

He pulled her hand up to his mouth and sucked on her finger suggestively, making her flush deeply at the insinuation.

She freed her hand from his grip a second later, turning her head back into his chest and kissing him there again.

This time, however, she gradually moved her lips down his body until she knelt on the wooden floorboards in front of him.

His hand never left her hair but instead of the rough grip, he brushed her locks between his fingers and stroked over the tips of her ears affectionately.

She returned her hand to stroke him and watched him before her with some hesitation, pointedly not looking up at him.

She slowly brought herself to kiss at the side of his length, somewhat uncertain what to do exactly – it’s not that she had no idea whatsoever… she wasn’t _that_ cut off from the outside world, however she was still a bit concerned that her lack of real experience would somehow spoil the mood.

She continued the process a bit closer to the tip, this time flicking her tongue across him, eliciting a pleased but somewhat frustrated groan from him.

She continued the motion of her hand as she moved to close her mouth over the head of his hardness, sucking in as he did with her finger before, an unfamiliar taste overwhelming her senses.

It filled her mouth rather fully and she gradually felt more and more saliva build up around the obstruction between her lips.

He groaned louder, his hand twisting in her hair again in a firm grip.

He pushed gently, getting her to move him a bit deeper into her mouth, then back towards the tip.

She got into the motion in a second as he growled deep in his throat in approval.

“Fuck… use your tongue, princess… and look up at me…” he said through his heavy breaths. 

She moved her tongue over him while still continuing her movements, making the pace a bit faster as a muffled moan rumbled through her throat at the sensation.

It took her a while before she looked at him, her cheeks bright red, her black eyes sparkling and darting back downwards bashfully.

She gagged a bit in discomfort when she went a too deep once, backing away with a start before continuing again, feeling him throb and twitch in her mouth more and more.

Karnwyr decided to interrupt them with his barking but they promptly ignored him, giving their attention only to each other a second later.

His breathing was heavy and labored and groans of pleasure escaped his mouth with each of her movements inwards.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he growled deep in his throat.

She could feel him get close, she could feel the signs from all the times she explored him with her hands before.

“My thane, I am… Oh, by Shor!” a sudden exclamation made her jerk away from him in shock as she turned her head back and covered her naked chest instinctively.

A Nord woman, with a dark-hair ponytail with shaved sides, a smudge of red war paint over her nose and an orcish armor stood in the open doorframe with her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide.

“I am so sorry!” she quickly yelped out and turned on her heel immediately.

They could hear as she stomped down the stairs and then a forceful slam of the entry doors.

Aeyrin’s blush seemed to consume her face beyond belief, she quickly wiped her mouth with her hand, the heated atmosphere now very uncomfortable.

“Princess, fuck, she’s gone… _please_ don’t stop now,” Bishop groaned in pitiable frustration and she gave him a nervous look.

The mood was completely obliterated but it was rather cruel to leave him like that.

She quickly moved her hand and mouth back to her previous task rather frantically.

Who in Oblivion was that woman? And why did she just enter a private house without as much as a knock?

She pulled her head back as she felt him twitch again, redoubling the efforts of her hand and positioning her chest towards him. He let out a loud groan of relief when he came all over her naked breasts, but he did seem rather morose at their privacy being interrupted too.

She quickly moved to her pack to fish out a rag and ran down to the bath tub, cleaning herself up as he readjusted himself.

“Who the fuck was that?” he scowled angrily as he approached her with her tunic in his hand, handing it to her.

“I… have no idea,” she shook her head, still baffled by the situation.

And where did that woman go?

“That was so embarrassing…” Aeyrin muttered, the blush still splayed across her face.

Bishop chuckled despite his annoyance – seeing her flustered always cheered him up.

“Relax, sweetness. It’s your damned house isn’t it?” he smirked, brushing her tangled hair with his fingers.

She pulled out the small silver mirror from her pack, fixing herself up. As if that mattered – the woman already saw everything full well.

“I… guess I’m gonna see if she’s outside…” Aeyrin said uncertainly, somewhat hoping that the woman would just disappear into the Void all of the sudden so that she wouldn’t have to face her.


	53. Your Sword and Your Shield

The woman sat on the stone low wall, staring at her boots uncomfortably.

Aeyrin approached her nervously, clearing her throat a bit when she stood before her.

“Oh! My thane! I… again I am _so_ sorry… I shouldn’t have just barged in…” she stammered a bit – it seemed strange coming from her. By her first impression, she seemed like a hardened warrior woman… then again Aeyrin knew all too well how different it was to maneuver battle and social interactions.

“I-it’s fine. Let’s just… pretend it didn’t happen, please,” Aeyrin rubbed the back of her head and bit her lower lip, avoiding eye contact with the woman.

“Yes… gladly,” the woman sighed out in an exaggerated relief.

Maybe she thought Aeyrin would be angry and yell at her. Or Shout at her…

She stood up on her feet, straightening her back dutifully.

“My name is Lydia, my thane. I have been appointed as your housecarl,” she said that so officially.

What was a housecarl? And again, what was a thane even?

Were titles like this common in Cyrodiil too?

She never really interacted with the nobility, but she always thought there were just counts and countesses and… well… rich people.

“Oh. Alright... what’s a housecarl?” Aeyrin asked after a while of pondering.

“Well… I am sworn to serve protect the thane and all her holdings,” Lydia explained with a confused expression. It was apparently a common title in Skyrim.

But it didn’t tell her a thing.

What did that mean, serve and protect? Was she a housekeeper? She didn’t look like one. Was she a bodyguard? Why would the jarl send a bodyguard to protect the Dragonborn?

Aeyrin scratcher her head for a while, not really sure what to do now… was she supposed to take the woman travelling with her? What did she expect to be doing? Was she an aspiring dragon slayer?

“Would you like to come in?” she asked after a while remembering that the woman previously entered the house without invitation. Maybe she was supposed to be an in-house bodyguard… that seemed even more ridiculous.

“You’re… back,” Bishop raised a brow at the woman entering alongside Aeyrin as he was preparing to make use of an actual cookpot for their meal rather than an open fire only.

Karnwyr raised his head at the woman curiously but laid it back down almost immediately, apparently not really concerned with her. He _did_ bark at her before but obviously didn’t attack. He wasn’t a guard dog, but it still would be somewhat expected that he would lunge at an intruder. Why didn’t he?

“This is Lydia. She’s my… housecarl?” Aeyrin grimaced at him uncertainly.

“I’ve seen you before,” Lydia looked Bishop over, for a while ponderingly.

“Yeah… I noticed,” Bishop scoffed and smirked. It was like ten minutes ago… 

“N-no! That’s not what I meant! I meant at the Dragonsreach… you were there before, after the first dragon was slain.”

Bishop only nodded at her, focusing back on the cooking.

“I hear that is why you were made thane, my lady. Is he also a thane then? Am I to serve both of you?” Lydia looked a little uncertain about the situation.

“Like I care about some useless title! I got money for that…” he scoffed derisively.

Truth be told, Aeyrin didn’t really care about the title either – she could hardly be honored by something she barely understood. Was she supposed to do something as a thane? Did she have responsibilities? Did she have to pay taxes? Were there taxes in Skyrim? With the civil war and all…

No one ever explained anything to her.

“Alright, again. What do I do as a thane and what do you do as a housecarl?” she sighed in frustration.

“You don’t do anything. It’s completely useless to have a title. Some idiots might kiss your ass instead of treating you like dirt, that’s it,” Bishop scoffed again while Lydia cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“That’s… well, being a thane is a great honor. You get recognized for your deeds and status,” she explained almost automatically, as if she practiced the answer.

“She already gets recognized, she’s the Dragonborn. It’s useless. Just admit it,” Bishop grinned at her maliciously.

“Well… I… that really depends, I suppose… You are also given your own property if you don’t own any in the hold… and a housecarl…” she rubbed the back of her head.

“Yeah. You get some place where you can finally have some privacy in the city, and someone to take the privacy away,” he smirked at her pointedly, making the woman look to the floor in embarrassment.

“I… apologize again… I can of course leave whenever you’d like to… I mean…”

Bishop burst out laughing as Aeyrin flushed immediately trying to change the subject as fast as possible.

“Let’s just… please, just explain to me again what you’ll be doing. You’re going to live in this house too?”

Lydia composed herself again and nodded at her.

“Yes, I am to care for your house when you are away. I can help with the upkeep and furnishing. I could also help you in your travels and battles if you would choose, but… I have only had basic guard training. I am unsure if I would be… of use against… well, dragons,” she grimaced nervously.

It was likely that she was expecting to be assigned to some noble as a bodyguard, accompanying them on the roads from city to city, not delving into dungeons and barrows.

“You can of course release me from your service if you prefer,” she sighed at Aeyrin’s uncertain expression. She really needed none of her services.

“What would you do if I released you?” she asked, noticing her façade falter a bit, her expression somewhat somber.

“I would come back to Dragonsreach to stay in the barracks as I did before. I would have to wait until another person would gain the title of thane,” she explained dutifully but didn’t really elaborate.

“So, you were a guard before?” Aeyrin pried, trying to discern whether Lydia wanted to be released or not. She was acting so official – it was hard getting an honest answer out of her.

“No. I was trained by them but not accepted into their employ. I merely waited for work to come, given food and lodging but no work or payment,” she attempted to hide exasperated sigh. Finally some hint!

“Who’d pay you now?” Bishop looked towards them with a scowl, predictably touchy about their already limited money supplies. He was certain that if the woman preferred to stay in her service, Aeyrin would let her, no matter the cost.

“The city of Whiterun. You do not need to concern yourself with that,” she smiled reassuringly but her somewhat sour and uncertain expression returned momentarily.

“Well, if you want to be released you can say so. But if you’d like to stay here, you can. Just… make yourself at home I suppose. We’ll be travelling mostly anyways,” Aeyrin nodded at her. At least she could make the place homey without having to worry about it falling into neglect.

“I… thank you. I will make sure your house is well maintained and guarded during your absence. And if you need anything from me, please let me know,” she sighed out in relief, her reluctance to go back to Dragonsreach now palpable.

“Yeah, we need something. We need you to make yourself scarce while we get back to breaking in the bed,” Bishop grinned insolently earning another flushed expression and an angry shove from Aeyrin in a second.

“Bishop! Ignore him. Please, just make yourself at home. _He_ will make sure there’s enough food for all of us,” she threw an admonishing glance at him as Lydia nodded nervously and headed into the smaller room on the upper floor.

“Hey, by the way, how’d you get past him?” Bishop called out to her before she reached the top of the stairs, inclining his head to the wolf lazing by the firepit.

“Oh. I had some dried meat in my pack for rations, so I just tossed him a piece,” the woman shrugged noncommittally as if it were a normal way to get into a house.

Karnwyr looked at Bishop in confusion when he sensed his glare at him, a low whine escaping him when he saw the expression.

“The fuck, man? You’re getting so fucking spoiled.”

…

Bishop glared at the woman as she chewed through his food with a frown, every once in a while taking a breath as if to say something, then changing her mind and closing her mouth again.

“You know, Lydia. You can really just… dispose of the deference. Those titles honestly don’t really mean much to me. I’d rather have a new friend,” Aeyrin smiled at her kindly, noticing her reservations.

“Are you certain, my thane?” Lydia gave her a doubtful look, likely too used to her training in housecarl duties to take her request seriously. She already had a very unorthodox welcome into their household, she could have guessed that they wouldn’t stand on ceremony.

“Of course. You can even tell Bishop you hate his food if you want,” Aeyrin laughed at her, hoping it would help ease the tension.

Lydia looked somewhat abashed for a while then gave a wry smile instead: “I don’t… ‘hate’ it… It’s good… But I could give you some tips on how to make it a bit better if you want.”

Bishop narrowed his eyes at her, scoffing derisively again.

“Teach _her._ She’s all about bettering herself. I don’t give a fuck,” he pointed towards Aeyrin and bit down on the cooked boar meat with a level look.

“But you’re better at it. And you’re the one usually taking care of food when we camp,” Aeyrin pouted at him. Bishop always made a decent meal but it was never as good as food they had in taverns. Not that Skyrim food agreed with her altogether but if it could be a little tastier, that would make camping in the wild even better. She was used to eating whatever was available rather than being picky, but it was always a nice little indulgence to get a tasty meal.

“Tell you what, you cook us breakfast and we’ll see if your skills are actually worth the effort,” Bishop smirked at Lydia, likely planning to scoff at her cooking the next day to avoid her advice.

Lydia nodded with a smile, turning back to her plate with slight reluctance.

She did likely eat food from the same cook as the jarl until now so it was understandable that she would be used to a different quality.

“I spent a lot of time in the Dragonsreach kitchens, I assure you I know what I’m doing,” she smiled a bit smugly, the gradual easiness of their conversation making the atmosphere much more comfortable in the house.

…

Bishop tried to look unimpressed.

He did his best to keep a stony expression as he tried the fresh bread with goat cheese filling and jazbay crostata that she made for breakfast, but his eagerness to finish the food has overshadowed every attempt at that.

“I take it you’ll be wanting those lessons right about now,” she laughed heartily as she watched them devour her food with gusto.

“Shut up. And give it here,” he grabbed the plate with the cut up bread from across the dining table.

Aeyrin was stuffing herself with the crostata, picking out the pieces which had the most grapes in them, their taste reminding her of the Eastmarch tundra with every bite.

“If you ever cook me something _this_ good… well I don’t know what I’d do, but please try,” Aeyrin batted her eyes at him as pleadingly as she could, trying to ensure that he wouldn’t oppose Lydia’s advice now.

“I have some ideas on how you can repay me,” he smirked at her suggestively.

“Fine. You can give me your ‘tips’ when I make us some lunch later,” he grunted at Lydia noncommittally while reaching for another piece of the crostata.

…

The lunch was still not on the level of Lydia’s food but it was certainly very good – a lot better than his previous cooking.

Aeyrin passed half of the afternoon spending her reward money for some decorations, flowers and armor stand, as well as more furnishings for the house, shaping it to her liking.

Lydia promised to take care of all the flowers she brought in when they are away and Aeyrin in turn paid for a training dummy that Lydia wanted for the outside to perfect her skills.

Maybe she even wanted to train so that she’d be able to join in on their adventures sometimes.

Aeyrin headed to Jorrvaskr to check if they had any interesting contracts for her before they left Whiterun again – it was always a good idea to pick up something in case they didn’t come across any good loot before needing supplies again. This way they could at least get some money from the Companions when they returned.

She came back at dusk to find Bishop crouching by the front door, his knife in hand and Karnwyr splayed near the door, lazing around him.

As she came closer, she noticed that he was actually carving something into the wood by the door – a diamond shape with two inscribed rings in the middle.

What was that? Was he somehow marking his territory? That was weird.

Besides the house wasn’t his – she could kick him out any time!

Not that she would, but still, it was strangely presumptuous.

“What are you doing?” she scowled at him, hearing the grunts of effort stop from the side of the house as Lydia interrupted her training to see what was going on.

“Making sure you’re not robbed,” he grinned as he continued to fiddle with the strange symbol.

“I’ve seen these marks before… _you’re_ the one doing them? Why are you vandalizing houses around Whiterun?” Lydia came over to them, giving him a confused and somewhat outraged look.

Bishop laughed at the insinuation. As if he had nothing better to do.

“They’re called shadowmarks. The Guild uses them to see which houses to hit and which to avoid. This one means the owner is under protection,” he winked at Aeyrin conspiratorially, but her brows creased even more.

“Are you allowed to do that? I _really_ don’t want to draw their attention again,” she sighed worriedly, remembering their ordeal in Riften.

“No one cares who does them. Besides, would you rather have your guard dog here kill some poor unknowing thief? That’d be much more of a shitstorm to deal with,” he inclined his head to the confused Nord woman who seemed completely lost in the conversation, but scoffed nonetheless at Bishop calling her a ‘guard dog’.

“I guess,” Aeyrin nodded, she certainly didn’t want to involve Lydia in their Guild troubles too.

“Anyway, I got a contract to clear out the pass to Morthal. We could head out tomorrow,” she said as the wolf near the door pricked up his ears and barked excitedly.

“Yeah. It’s been way too long,” Bishop smiled. They didn’t really enjoy their traveling on the way from Windhelm with Aeyrin’s sickness. Besides, if their last retreat from civilization was anything to go by, things could get even more interesting. Especially since they could finally be completely alone.

Lydia offered several times to leave the house for some time but Aeyrin was way too uncomfortable with her having to leave for them to enjoy some privacy.

He didn’t get it at all.

She always got so frazzled by other people knowing what they were doing. They knew anyways, even without seeing or hearing them – it’s not like their relationship wasn’t more than obvious to anyone. He did make somewhat sure of that – if nothing else then to dissuade any leering lechers.

It was fun teasing her about her bashfulness and she was fine with being close to him or kissing him in front of other people but anything more, even in insinuation, made her squirm.

Thus whenever they kept themselves in public for this long it was way too frustrating.

Furthermore, she did have those tinctures already – there were no more reasons to wait, especially after everything they did together. He knew she was eager already too, but she never mentioned to him that she started to take the stuff.

Not that she ever would get through her shyness about these things.

Maybe he could take her somewhere nice, where no one would disturb them for a very long time. Things usually progressed more naturally between them anyways rather than planning and talking things out.

It usually suited him fine, but the wait was getting way too long already. He was becoming impatient.

Aeyrin left inside the house as he was finishing his handiwork, Lydia still peering over his shoulder.

“I understood none of that,” she sighed, watching him work.

“Good. It’s better that way, trust me. It’s for your own protection too,” he said noncommittally as he tentatively brushed the wood dust from his dagger.

“I didn’t know you cared…” she smirked at him mockingly.

“’Course I do,” he gave her a surprised look at which she startled a bit, suddenly uncertain of his sudden warmness.

“Who else would make food like _that_ for me again?” he grinned at her and she sighed out either in relief or in disappointment. At the very least she seemed more at ease when she knew where she stood with him.

But she wasn’t so bad. He expected to hate anyone who would intrude on his and Aeyrin’s privacy but once she got rid of that demure servitude persona, she was bearable to be around. It surprised even him how little he minded her presence.

“A sentimental weapon, I assume?” she looked at his knife as he sheathed it into his belt – the blade was clearly worn and overused, the edge by the hilt chipped a bit. 

“Yeah,” he nodded curtly, it was plain to see after all.

“I have an axe like that. But I don’t really carry it around anymore,” she sighed wistfully, looking at the direction of the small window to her bedroom, likely the current location of her old weapon.

“Yeah, this one’s still useful when there’s nothing else, but I try to keep my distance,” he nodded, looking his knife over.

It _did_ get him from some tough situations, but whenever he had to use it, he knew that his life was hanging by a thread.

“Wait, that’s your _only_ melee weapon?” Lydia gasped at him in utter horror.

“It’s enough. I’m fine with swords, but I don’t need it. Aeyrin doesn’t have a ranged weapon either. It works together,” he shrugged. He thought about it before but he knew how Aeyrin hated sharing the front lines.

Besides, he had to watch her ass.

Her back that is…

“She can Shout. And you should still have a sword in case she gets knocked out or you get overwhelmed,” Lydia shook her head at him making him groan in frustration.

He remembered the last battle they were in before her illness. If he had a proper weapon, maybe it wouldn’t have ended the way it did.

But he could have figured that himself. Now Lydia would be all smug if he took her advice.

“I don’t need one. It’s fine,” he grunted at her, turning towards the door.

“Stubborn ice-brain. Every warrior needs a melee weapon. You’re getting a sword and that’s final,” Lydia raised her voice suddenly making him raise his brows at her with a surprised smirk.

“Or what?” he laughed at her deep scowl.

“Or I’m telling Aeyrin that you’re actually using her real name instead of those nicknames when you talk about her to other people.”

He gave her a blank stare as she smiled smugly, folding her arms across her chest in victory.

She got way too comfortable and friendly around them in such a short a time.

Why didn’t he mind? He hated people. Aeyrin was such a bad influence.

He hated that.

And kind of liked that.

He always told himself that he didn’t need anyone, didn’t trust anyone.

It would be his undoing. He just knew that.

But for some reason, it didn’t matter.

Not being constantly alone was novel and right now, it seemed worth the risks.

He would regret it eventually, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that anymore.

He smirked at her and shook his head in defeat.

“Not a word, woman. I’ll get a sword.”


	54. Prescience

“You know, we should really do something to drown out that horrible noise,” Bishop smirked, pulling her closer to him and sliding his hand under her tunic a bit, stroking over her stomach.

They arrived to Morthal pretty late in the night but the young Orc was still eagerly ‘entertaining’ the tavern with his singing as they hid themselves at one of the more shadowy corner tables at Moorside Inn.

They disbanded several trolls in Cold Rock Pass and made their way to Morthal right away.

Bishop wanted to stay in the wilderness for some while, with ulterior motives of course, but the cold seemed to be getting to Aeyrin already. Whenever they passed through mountains or snowy regions, she was like a walking block of ice.

He wondered how she was ever going to survive Winterhold. She already expressed interest in the College.

Not that he was eager to go – he hated mages, too unpredictable, he never knew what to expect from them. And most of those he met were all condescending and puffed up just because they could make a little flame with their hands.

Big deal.

He could shoot an arrow through their eye from four hundred paces away – that required skill, not reading a measly book.

Aeyrin’s magic at least was useful. And it could be beneficial if she could learn something more from the haughty fops – a stronger healing magic could have saved them so many times before, but most temples didn’t really share their knowledge with the public.

They were probably wary, too many Nords shied away even from restoration magic, calling it abominable and too dangerous.

She blushed and squirmed slightly in his arms.

Bishop was half-lying on the long bench, his back leaning against the wall and she had her back nestled against his chest, her head lying on his shoulder, his hands over her waist and stomach.

The inn was almost empty – it was only them, the Orc, the Redguard innkeeper and the mage that helped them kill the dragon when they last visited Morthal.

A loud bark from outside the tavern door interrupted the Orc, who gave a fierce scowl.

The dark-haired woman that Bishop… ‘investigated’ before entered with an amused smirk thrown at him.

Aeyrin noticed that he tensed around her a bit – it seemed that Karnwyr’s reaction to her still kept him somewhat on edge.

She wondered why the wolf reacted like this to some people. Bishop always said that he was sure that there was something wrong with those that the wolf went crazy around, but she couldn’t imagine what it could be. The Companions for instance gave her home and camaraderie, and even treated Bishop decently, well maybe Farkas and Vilkas didn’t, but to be fair, he wasn’t exactly civil to them either.

She couldn’t imagine what the wolf could sense that they didn’t.

That woman _did_ unsettle her a bit too, but she suspected it was more about the looks she gave Bishop and how… ‘friendly’ their last interaction appeared.

The woman headed towards the bar again but Aeyrin _did_ notice her throwing glances at them every once in a while, well… probably only at Bishop.

The innkeeper and the mage who had been discussing something up until then went strangely quiet upon the dark-haired woman’s arrival, throwing her odd looks from time to time.

She seemed to be enjoying the strange suspicious attention, looking around arrogantly and confidently with a sly smile permanently plastered on her lips.

Eventually, Aeyrin got up to head the bar to get another round of mead for them.

She had an uncomfortable feeling as she waited for the innkeeper to pour the drinks – she knew that the woman was watching her.

Why did she suddenly feel like a small mouse about to be pounced upon?

It was definitely just the dislike for that woman that she felt. Besides, it was completely unfounded – she did nothing to her, Bishop went to her last time, purposefully flirting to get information on her, it wasn’t her fault that she took the bait.

She heard the barstool pull and the clacking of high heeled boots walking away from her.

She looked behind her, seeing the woman exit the tavern and breathed out an involuntary sigh of relief.

“I am telling you, I can feel something from her… something not of this plane. Believe me, I would know,” the mage turned to the innkeeper immediately.

‘Not of this plane’? Could it be that there really was something strange about that woman? That it wasn’t just in her head?

“I’m sorry… what do you mean ‘not of this plane’?” she interrupted them with a creased brow.

“I am a conjurer of some skill, girl. There’s a… distinct feel of beings I summon to this world. Something about her reminds me of that…” the mage seemed quite content that someone took his claims seriously, rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wait… are you saying that… she’s somehow a… Daedra?” Aeyrin cringed uncomfortably as the innkeeper scoffed dismissively at that.

“No, nothing like that. How should I explain so that a layman would… Well, let’s see. Us conjurers interact closely with Daedra. When I meet another conjurer, I can instantly tell – there’s this… lingering essence, a feeling,” the mage explained ponderingly.

“So she’s a conjurer. No wonder she would hide this – look how they’re treating you here,” the innkeeper interjected.

“No, dear sister, not a conjurer. But there’s a similar… lingering… something. I would _love_ to study her more closely. A necropsy would be ideal,” he seemed to be enveloped in his own world, his eyes peering upwards in deep thought.

“A… necropsy? You want to kill her for a strange feeling?” Aeyrin gasped but the innkeeper only chuckled at that.

“Don’t take him too seriously. He wants to study everyone like that. He said that about you too when he saw that strange spectacle when the dragon died,” she laughed as Aeyrin took a step away from the man nervously.

“There are some nasty rumors about the woman and the looks she throws people usually get them on edge, that’s it,” the innkeeper shrugged at Aeyrin with a smile.

“What nasty rumors?” Aeyrin pried, still not convinced. There were several odd things now – Karnwyr had no way of sensing ‘rumors’ and he would hardly be fazed by a nasty stare. And what could the mage’s feeling mean?

“Oh. You probably didn’t hear. It all happened after you left last time. There was a tragedy in our town,” the innkeeper lowered her head somberly for a while before continuing. “There was a fire several days after the dragon attack. A house burned down, a child and her mother died. The father survived. The strange thing was that a day after the fire, he moved in with Alva – that woman we were talking about. They seem to be in a relationship now. People have so many crazy theories, most of them pinpoint either the father, Hroggar, or Alva as the ones who started the fire so they could make their affair legitimate,” the innkeeper sighed and picked up a tankard, cleaning it meticulously.

“That’s horrible… and so shortly after that woman was killed by the dragon,” Aeyrin sighed, remembering their last visit.

“Exactly. Poor little Virkmund – first his mother, then Helgi,” the Redguard sighed again somberly.

Helgi?!

That was the name of the girl they talked to last time!

The ‘mortal’.

She _knew_ something was up! She knew that something about the situation was strange!

And she left.

If she looked more into it, she could have prevented this.

Now a child and her mother were dead.

What was she thinking? She was supposed to help and protect even when she wasn’t asked to. But she was preoccupied with Delphine’s stupidly vague message.

They didn’t even have proof that that Laelette woman was dead back then – just half of a body with her clothes. Someone could have staged that!

She grabbed the tankards without another word and headed back to the table quickly, a lump pressing in her throat uncomfortably.

She was distinctly paler when she returned to him, setting the tankards on the table with an empty stare.

She’s been talking to the two Redguards for some time after that woman left – they must have told her something to unsettle her.

“What’s wrong?” he sat up at the table at the sight of her.

“Do you… remember the girl from last time we were here? The ‘mortal’ girl?” she gave him both sad and disturbed look as he nodded in response.

It was too creepy to forget.

“She’s dead. She and her mother burned down in a fire. It… might not have been an accident,” she looked down somberly.

Oh, fuck, she was gonna be blaming herself for that, wasn’t she?

“Princess…” he shook his head at her, sensing the trail of her thought all too well.

“We knew something was wrong. Maybe we were the only ones who knew. We should have looked into it more… we just left,” her voice shook a little, her head still downcast.

“Princess, it’s not your responsibility. You can’t watch over every single person we meet. Anything can happen, you can’t beat yourself up over shit like that,” he placed his hand on her back reassuringly, stroking her soothingly for a while.

“They told us that the woman who said that to the girl was dead. What else was there to do?” he sighed.

“If we waited…” she sighed, but he interrupted her before she could continue her martyrdom.

“If we waited we could have had first row seats to the fire and that’s about it. And better yet, whole Kynesgrove would probably be a pile of ash if we didn’t intercept the dragon in time,” he scowled determinedly at her.

He wanted to tell her how she couldn’t save everyone but that concept was beyond her philosophy. And to be honest, he kind of liked this side of her. Even if it was irrational and pointless, the fact that she still wanted to help every single person they came across was somewhat heartwarming. He didn’t get why he felt that way about a quality this annoying…

She stayed silent for a while, mulling over his words.

“Can we at least look into it now? So that something like this doesn’t happen again?” she looked at him with glassy eyes, somewhat pleadingly.

As if he had any say in it.

He smiled at her and nodded.

“Talk to the jarl tomorrow, she should know the circumstances. Besides, word is, she’s a seer of sorts. It’s probably just talk, but it might be interesting to see if the rumors about the old hag are actually true.”

…

They entered the longhouse before midday.

The jarl’s place was not nearly as grand as Dragonsreach, but it still was a far cry from regular houses.

They passed a dark-haired young woman in a charcoal bouffant dress laced with white pearls that also graced her neck and hair. She gave them a polite nod as she watched a small boy in similarly dark but opulent outfit make his way to her from the second floor.

The jarl was across the long hall, sitting in her throne and discussing something calmly with the man standing beside her. She had a green long dress with patched embroidery on the sides with golden threads on the edges.

She was older, her hair braided into two halves and twisted into side buns and her jewelry was elegant but there were hints of arcane symbols in the charms and pendants.

It was surprising to see a jarl of all people rather open about her interest in magic, from what Aeyrin noticed so far, elves were not the only thing collectively distrusted and hated throughout Skyrim – mages often got the same treatment as her.

The difference was that most of them could not be identified by their physical features alone.

When the jarl spotted them, she straightened in her throne expectantly, nodding in greeting as they approached her.

“The Dragonborn and her companion. Welcome. I am Idgrod Ravencrone, Jarl of Hjaalmarch,” she inclined her head politely in an official manner before continuing.

“I have seen your coming before me, for what purpose… we’ll see. I hope it is something of more intrigue than seeking a reward for your assistance with the dragon,” she gave a half-bored, half-sly smirk at them and waited patiently for their response.

“ _Is_ there a reward?” Bishop muttered quietly, before Aeyrin interrupted him.

The jarl, however, did smile covertly at that.

“We’re actually here to ask about the… tragedy that happened in the city recently,” Aeyrin said quickly before Bishop managed to demand money from the woman.

“Yes, the fire. Hardly anyone was willing to investigate. My people now believe the place to be cursed. And who am I to gainsay them,” she scoffed a bit, waving her hand dismissively.

“You… didn’t have it investigated?” Aeyrin raised her brows at her in surprise then scowled deeply.

“The mystery will be solved, I have seen it. The question is how or by whom… I am interested to wait for the events themselves. Perhaps you two are volunteering?” Idgrod pondered with an interested smile

“Pfft… convenient,” Bishop scoffed. Claiming to be a seer seemed like a good opportunity to lie and ignore problems.

“Watch how you address the jarl!” the man beside her barked at Bishop but the jarl raised her hand at him calmly, stopping his outburst.

“I am aware, that it may seem like an excuse. I am all too familiar with people’s distrust. But _you_ were the ones who came before me. If you wish to investigate I will share what I know _and_ what I have seen. Otherwise some other events will show the truth to me, I have no doubt of that,” Idgrod shrugged, seemingly somewhat unperturbed by the tragedy.

It was difficult to say whether she was callous or whether her supposed ‘gift’ really gave her such certainty.

“We want to investigate,” Aeyrin nodded after a while of watching the jarl’s expression uncertainly.

“Excellent. Join me in the dining room, there are other things I wished to discuss as well.”

…

They sat in the dining hall at the long table while the cook came to offer a plate to each of them.

Idgrod sent the cook and guards away, leaving only the three of them in the room. She was watching them with curiosity in her eyes, scanning their expressions carefully, measuredly.

After a long sip from her goblet of alto wine, which Aeyrin pointedly ignored her serving of, she gave them a strangely mysterious smile.

“Before we begin to discuss the events of the fire, I have some things to say first,” she put her goblet back on the table before continuing.

“I assume you have come across at least some rumors of my gift. My citizens often dismiss it or outright shun me for it. It has, however, helped me and my Hold countless times before, as it will in the future. And even after I am gone, my dear daughter will hopefully use her gift to provide the same help and guidance to my people,” her face was somewhat wistful and hopeful.

“Now, it may help you as well. It is up to you whether you take my words at value. My visions do not show a certain future, merely hint of events to come, not how they will transpire or how they will resolve themselves,” her voice was a bit regretful, perhaps she wished her gifts would be of a more tangible value one day.

“I have had a vision one eve. Before the rumors of the events in the south reached us. Before the news of Helgen arrived and before the rumors of a Dragonborn roaming the land reached my ears,” her smile was pleased, even proud of the forbearance of her premonitions.

“I have seen… wings, black like ebony, speckled with golden glints like fire. They soared through the skies, the feeling of dread in each swing and heave. Then… there was a loud noise and… a blue light. It enveloped them, constrained them and clipped them. There was pain in them, but it wasn’t… mine. Mine was a feeling of hope, of… victory and survival,” she paused as they looked at her uncertainly. She shook her head sadly, her voice more somber and quiet.

“My visions are rarely clear, they consist of feelings and images, but perhaps… perhaps they may be of use for those who can uncover the meaning behind them. I have heard a description of the dragon at Helgen. The Imperial soldiers were passed this information, in warning of the beast’s immense power. The legate stationed at my Hold relayed this to me and then I _knew_. Or do you disagree?” she gave Aeyrin a curious expression, waiting for her reaction.

“N-no… the wings you spoke of… they are exactly like the ones of the dragon in Helgen. But… the blue light… do you know what it was?” Aeyrin looked at her hopefully, almost pleadingly.

Did she see a way to defeat the black beast?

She wasn’t even sure if the one at Helgen and at Kynesgrove were the same creature. Perhaps there were more of them.

What was certain, however, was the dragon’s power – it was unlike any other of their kind. None of the dragons they killed could wreak such havoc in such short time. They were powerful, sure, but never like _that_.

If there was a power, a spell, a Shout or an object that could… ‘clip these wings’ it would be more than she hoped for. A weapon she never even dreamed of having as an option.

“I was hoping you would have a better idea,” Idgrod sighed in disappointment then gave a weak smile.

“Perhaps time will reveal more to you, or me. I hope my vision will prove useful either way. If I have any more, I will be sure to contact you, of course.”

“To other matters then,” Idgrod nodded resolutely, taking her goblet back into her hand and sipping periodically.

“The fire happened two days after your departure. Hroggar, the father, was not at the house at that time and the child and the woman inside perished in the fire. The townspeople spoke of strange behavior from Hroggar – he did not appear to mourn his family and the next day he publicly showed his relationship with the woman Alva. He moved into her house, but other than that, there are no strange circumstances to his behavior. He works and spends his time at Alva’s house... It is the house right next to the barracks,” she gave them a somewhat conspicuous smile as she said that.

“Alva spends her evenings in the inn, strangely enough, since she has a man in her house,” the jarl smirked and gave them a knowing smile.

Did she expect them to break into a house? That was odd.

“I had a vision, sadly unsubstantial. There were only two things I saw. First was the burned down house in the moonlight. I had the guard visit the place at night but there was nothing outside the ordinary. The second thing was… blood,” she gave a blank stare, not elaborating at all.

“Blood?” Aeyrin frowned.

The house was burned, there likely wasn’t much blood involved.

“Simply blood. I cannot fathom why,” Idgrod shrugged her shoulders and smiled at them kindly.

“I authorize you to investigate to your hearts’ contents. However, if you in any way break the law without substantial reason and suspicion I cannot overlook that,” her gaze turned stern for a bit and they both nodded in understanding.

“Now, let us enjoy the meal. I am curious to hear more of your travels and your efforts against the dragons.”


	55. Immortals

Bishop looked around carefully – there was no one in sight.

They stayed at Highmoon Hall for a while yet and talked more with jarl Idgrod. She was very curious about Aeyrin’s abilities and the process of consuming souls. To be safe, Aeyrin didn’t tell her anything more about the black dragon, the Blades or their pending investigation but shared only the things that were general knowledge anyways.

They left before sundown, spending some time plotting and planning their next course of action.

Aeyrin didn’t want to split up, but Bishop managed to convince her. She was not exactly a burglar material. Whatever she did in her youth she promptly forgotten in her adulthood. It was more likely she merely relied on people not being at home if she robbed a house rather than being quiet.

She was anything but sneaky and subtle.

She went to investigate the burned down house alone while he carried on to Alva’s house, intent on sneaking in while Hroggar slept and Alva was in the inn.

He knelt by the door, covered in darkness.

He pulled out his lockpicks and started fiddling with the locks as quietly as possible. Hopefully, the man would be asleep already. According to Idgrod, he worked at the mill – that meant he was getting up early.

It was a bit odd how Idgrod insinuated that they ‘investigate’ Alva’s house. Couldn’t she just have her guards do it?

Then again, if people saw an inspection coming, they usually managed to hide their suspicious shit. Maybe the jarl was more savvy than one would think.

“What are you doing?” a voice made him freeze in place.

What the fuck?

He was careful!

He looked towards the source – there was a young boy, no older than ten, standing at the corner of the building, watching him with his mouth ajar.

Why didn’t he see him? He must have been hiding somewhere in the bushes nearby...

Why?

Maybe he was trying to peep on Alva. Wouldn’t be surprising.

“I’m… checking if it’s… not broken,” he pondered a bit before answering the boy, straightening himself up from the door. That was probably the least convincing lie he’s ever told. But it was just a kid… they were gullible…

“No you weren’t! I’m not stupid! You were breaking in!” the young boy looked at him with narrowed eyes and approached slowly.

Not _that_ gullible apparently…

He _was_ pretty brave, if he was really a burglar with intent to rob, he might have just killed him to avoid witnesses. Wait, was he brave or incredibly stupid?

“Why are _you_ here?” Bishop asked after a while, deciding to go on the offensive instead. The boy was likely doing something he shouldn’t have himself.

“I wasn’t doing anything! I’m just… waiting for my mom,” he pouted and shuffled his feet somewhat embarrassed.

“Uh-huh…” Bishop smirked at him disbelievingly, waiting for the boy to explain himself further.

“I was! I just…” suddenly the boy teared up, looking into the ground stubbornly, avoiding any eye contact. Oh, fuck! What was that about?!

Bishop got uncomfortable instantly.

“They… they say momma’s dead… But it’s not true! I saw her! I saw her from my window at night!”

Shit, this must have been Laelette’s boy – the woman whose body they found after the dragon attack.

He _saw_ her?!

It was likely wishful thinking on his part… but… the whole ‘mortal’ thing and now this… it was all too fishy.

“Why… why are you _here_ then?” Bishop wasn’t really sure how to deal with the sobbing boy. In his family, the kids usually didn’t express their sorrow so… publically. It wouldn’t end well if they did. So he just pried further, trying to pull the pieces together.

“She… she’s been here a lot before… before they said she died. The lady here… she was a new friend of hers… I thought… maybe she was living with her… maybe she…” the boy started to sob so loudly that he barely got the words out of his mouth, his eyes still downcast pitiably. “May-maybe she doesn’t…. she doesn’t want to live…. with me anymore…,” the boy sniffled pathetically, wiping his tears away in a last hopeless attempt to save face.

Bishop just stared at the boy for a while. Fuck… how could he make him stop?

After a while of silence, broken only by the boy’s uncontrollable sobbing, Bishop decided to clasp him on his shoulder. The boy froze at that, stopping his sobs suddenly.

“Hey, look at me,” the boy raised his eyes to his uncertainly, but there was no fear in them. He still sniffled, but it was as if with his eyes finally not fastened on the ground, he got more determined to stop crying and look somewhat… tough.

“Let’s make a deal. I’ll go inside and I’ll look if your mother’s there. In turn, you won’t tell anyone about any of this.”

He shouldn’t have given him false hope. His mother was likely eaten by a dragon and whoever he saw was just a figment of his grief-stricken mind.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, something told him… the boy might be right…

The boy stared at him wide eyed for a moment then nodded his head hurriedly, obviously eager to see what Bishop found.

Bishop smiled at him and turned back to the lock, pulling out his picks again.

“Go hide like before. If anyone comes here, don’t make a sound,” he instructed the boy as he hurried back to the side of the house, the rustling of bushes echoing through the quiet night.

He just hoped he didn’t unwittingly make everything worse for him…

…

Hroggar’s snores filled the room as he snuck in.

He took a quick look around – some cupboards and nightstands – it was possible that there were some secrets stashed in them, but not very likely – too accessible.

There could be a hidden chamber or… the basement.

He made his way down slowly, the wooden steps creaking lightly under his feet.

The basement was locked too, but the continuous snoring assured him that he was in the clear. Jingling with his lockpicks as little as possible, he managed to open the door.

He was going to look into every nook and cranny, find any little thing that suggested that there is something wrong with Alva, that there is something she did either directly or indirectly to cause the fire.

He didn’t expect the evidence to show up right away, but…

“Fuck.”

He cursed under his breath at the sight of the rather lavish empty coffin in the middle of the room.

“’Fuck’ indeed,” a sultry laugh rang out behind his back.

He didn’t hear anyone follow him!

He turned fast, brandishing his new shortsword immediately – Lydia would be so smug about that. It was a low quality iron blade, with his funds generally depleted, but it was something.

“Oh no! There’s a strange man in my bedroom!” Alva laughed as she stepped even closer, the tip of his blade gently touching her cleavage.

He should stab her right away!

Why couldn’t he stab her?

Was she doing something weird with her arms?

_Fuck, just kill her! She’s a vampire, ice-brain! Kill her!_

“Isn’t that how it goes? This time it’s more sad for the strange man than me though,” she gave him a flirtatious wink and snuck her hand past the blade languidly, her nail trailing over his arm before she stepped closer again, ignoring the sword completely and placing her cold hand on his cheek.

_Kill her, dammit!!!_

“We are going to have sooo much fun together, darling,” her hand dropped to his neck, her nail pricking the side of his throat.

Why couldn’t he move? What has she done to him?

Her hand was distracting.

And she was so beautiful. Maybe he _could_ have some fun with her… did it really matter what she meant by ‘fun’?

“But first… we need to take care of some annoyances. I wonder how far are you willing to go already,” she smiled sweetly, her head tilting from side to side, her eyes fastened on his neck. Her tongue flicked over her ruby red lips.

Damn… he wanted them on his neck, sucking on his skin.

“Darling, there’s a pest snooping around. Besides _you_ that is…” she chuckled merrily. “If you went out and killed that pesky elf of yours, we could spend… an _eternity_ together,” her smile turned irresistibly seductive and his sword dropped on the stone ground with a loud clank.

Eternity… that sounded… nice.

But… wait, what? There was something strange about this, wasn’t there?

No… he should just do what she asked, then he could be with her forever. Just letting her do whatever she wanted with him…

All he needed to do was kill Aeyrin. Put whatever was between them aside and just get rid of her. How hard could… uhhh…

What was he thinking?!

He needed to kill the vampire, not Aeyrin!

“No? Too much?” she pouted in disappointment, then smiled again. “That’s too bad. But I know someone who can help with that.”

She closed the distance between them and breathed against his neck with a strangely cold huff. Fuck, that felt so good.

“I just need to make sure you’ll be a good boy until we get there.”

He felt her kiss him hungrily at his throat, her tongue flicking over his skin and her lips sucking in eagerly.

There was a sharp pain in his neck, he felt liquid pouring out but none of it reached his armor and clothes. It felt like something was actually pulling on his veins.

His knees buckled heavily but he didn’t fall, as if held up by a sheer power of will.

It was so… pleasant.

The pressure in his neck stopped and he felt disappointed.

“Take your sword and follow me, darling. We’re going to teach you manners,” she laughed again and turned her back to him as she walked out of the basement, beckoning him with her finger and swaying her hips exaggeratedly.

He wanted nothing else than to follow her forever.

…

Aeyrin was sifting through burned down rubble for what felt like hours.

Karnwyr kept sniffing around the remains of the house but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He did seem somewhat on edge though, but strangely not as if they were in danger, rather in anticipation.

“Bishop’s taking his time, huh?” she turned to the wolf with a worried expression.

She never actually saw him in action with his thieving abilities. She knew from their dungeon delving how quick, agile and quiet he could be, but breaking into a civilian’s house was different.

He certainly couldn’t just rely on killing anything that discovered him.

She remembered her own criminal past – she was very small, so it wasn’t that hard to break into places. She was pretty good at climbing so she usually waited until the residents left and climbed into an open window.

It wasn’t often though – she only ever broke into five or six houses. It was a scary ordeal and she never dared to steal from the large mansions so there was usually very little reward.

But Ri’zhassa insisted she tried anyways when there were no other immediate avenues.

Bishop was much more experienced in this and it made sense that he went alone.

She still didn’t like to separate though, she was too anxious and unable to concentrate on her own investigation.

“It’s you!” a sudden voice interrupted her musing; she turned around immediately to see its source.

It was a… ghost.

“H-Helgi?” she sputtered, staring at the translucent little girl.

Karnwyr barked once, happily as in greeting.

Strange, she thought he would freak out. Perhaps he could sense whether the ghost meant any harm.

“You remembered!” the girl exclaimed excitedly, she looked so… happy.

“You were right! I won the bet! There are no dragons here!” she laughed and spun around, the ethereal skirt twirling in the moonlight dazzlingly.

“When Virkmund gets here, he owes me a sweet roll!”

Again with the sweetrolls…

“But it’s strange. I never thought it would look the same…” she was referring to the place she passed on to, but she never left. She thought to travel to the afterlife but she didn’t.

Why?

Did she linger because her death wasn’t avenged? Because the culprit wasn’t found?

“Helgi, you are still… here… on Nirn. You… still have somewhere to go,” Aeyrin tried to speak calmingly as to not frighten the girl.

She knew she was dead, that made thing easier. Aeyrin talked to ghosts before in the chapel undercroft. She even played the lute for them. There were three of them, guarding the entombed. One of them didn’t realize he was dead. It was always difficult to speak with him and somehow heartbreaking – he always asked about his family.

“Really? That’s great! I was looking for momma and grandpop but didn’t see them! Do you think they’re in this other place? Waiting for me?” she sounded so hopeful and excited.

“I am sure they are Helgi,” Aeyrin smiled at her kindly as the girl’s face creased in somber realization.

“But… how do I get there?” she looked up sadly at the elf, searching her face for any sign of hope.

“We’ll figure that out together, Helgi. I promise,” Aeyrin nodded at her reassuringly.

“You’re so nice! I didn’t even have anyone to talk to… the guards came but they scare me… and _she_ comes here often, but… I don’t know what she wants from me…” it looked like Helgi shivered with fright.

Did she mean Alva? What would Alva want with the remains of the house? What would anyone who wasn’t investigating?

“’She’ who?” Aeyirn asked her even though she already expected the answer.

“Virkmund’s momma… but she’s not… she’s different now. I don’t like her anymore…” Helgi hugged her arms nervously.

Virkmund’s mother? Wasn’t that Laelette, the woman thought killed by the dragon?

Maybe she really wasn’t killed… but why would she come here?

“She’s here almost every night. She waits and whispers about… praying. But she scares me so I hide from her,” Helgi looked to the ground in embarrassment.

“Praying?” Aeyrin looked at her in shock? That seemed more and more convoluted… was she praying for the departed? But why would she scare Helgi then?

“She says… ‘a pray will come, a pray will come’. I don’t know what it means…” Helgi cried out a bit desperately, clearly terrified of the woman.

Pray… or prey?

She was waiting for something to hunt… or someone.

“Quick, duck!!!” Helgi yelled suddenly, making Aeyrin crouch in panic immediately.

There was a swishing sound just above her head and then an arrow hit the charred wood to her side.

She looked up instinctively.

It was dark, but… was that… Bishop’s arrow? He always fletched his own…

She turned her head to the road seeing him standing by the inn, notching another arrow quickly.

Did he see the ghost and try to kill her?

No, Helgi was pretty far from the trajectory.

Bishop never missed.

Wait… what? Was he aiming at _her_?!

Karnwyr whined pathetically, clearly equally confused about the situation. He ran a short distance in Bishop’s direction than back again, frantic and uncertain what to do.

“Bishop! What are you…” she didn’t manage to finish the thought as she had to dodge another arrow quickly, jumping out of the way.

What was wrong with him?!

She looked at Helgi but she was gone, likely frightened by the events.

Aeyrin decided to run towards him, to tackle him, subdue him and clear all this up – it was so dark, but… he didn’t look right.

Halfway through she saw him notch another arrow, this time he would surely hit.

“FEIM!”

The arrow swished through her body harmlessly.

His face was hidden by the shadows but she could swear she could make out an angry sneer on his face.

He fastened his bow on his back and readied his sword.

Was he actually going to fight her?

What was going on?!

She jumped him and tackled him as soon as the effect of her Shout dissipated. His sword only grazed her plate armor at first, but he immediately pressed it against her neck.

“FEIM!”

She managed to Shout again before the blade went through, a light burning on her neck signaled just how close a call it was.

Bishop was no longer pinned down though, his body moving through her immaterial form smoothly, making her shiver all over, her stomach churning unpleasantly.

He stood up and readied his bow again, knowing full well that she had no way to touch him in her ethereal form.

“Bishop, what are you doing?!” she tried to yell out, giving him a desperate look, but it was in vain.

He didn’t even seem to hear her, his face strangely feral.

He pointed the arrow at her head and… waited.

What now?

He would shoot her once the power dissipated again!

She only had seconds to spare but found herself at a complete loss.

Her head was swarming with confusion; she could not concentrate on thinking of a plan to get out of this.

“Halt! Drop your weapon!”

Two guard suddenly ran from the Highmoon Hall, surrounding Bishop.

He did not move, aiming his bow at her adamantly, unconcerned about the interruption.

“GRAB HIM! NOW!!!” Aeyrin yelled as she felt the buzzing of her form slowly subside. It was now or never.

The arrow was let loose as the guards captured him by his elbows roughly, his bow falling from his grip.

The arrow swished through her only seconds before she felt her body take form again.

Now there was another problem though.

Bishop thrashed and squirmed wildly and one of the guards raised his sword with his free hand.

“NO! STOP! DON’T HURT HIM!!!”

The guards stared at her in confusion, trying to hold the struggling ranger with all their might as she yelled hysterically.

“Please! He’s not himself… I don’t know what happened… Please, just… lock him up. I’ll… get to the bottom of this,” she realized she was still on her knees on the ground, but that wasn’t exactly bad for the current situation.

She gave them a pleading look, she was sure that Alva or someone else made him this way.

She just prayed that it was reversible.

“I… umm…. We’ll need to discuss this with the jarl… I think,” one of the guards nodded uncertainly as they dragged Bishop kicking and, well… snarling, towards the barracks.

“Lady Dragonborn, go get the jarl, please. We’ll detain him in the meantime.”

Aeyrin nodded, still completely at a loss about what happened, before she realized another potential issue.

“Oh! Be careful! He has lockpicks… and knows how to use them!” she called out to them at the last moment. Bishop instantly growled back at her hatefully like a rabid animal.

It was… heartbreaking to see such an expression directed at her.

She touched her neck lightly, feeling the small trickle of blood from the wound he made.

What could have possessed him to act like that?

She felt a lick at her hand – Karnwyr’s expression of support as they both watched Bishop be dragged away forcefully.

…

Vampires… she should have known.

She used the small whetstone to sharpen the edges of her mace as she sat on the bench in Highmoon Hall.

Bishop was in prison, still raving, clenching the bars and practically throwing himself on them in order to get out and… kill her.

She told everything to Idgrod, mainly where Bishop’s been, and the jarl ordered to have the house searched immediately.

Alva was gone, but there was a coffin in the basement along with a letter… from Alva to Laelette.

It explained, rather condescendingly, that after Laelette catches a worthy prey, she is to bring them to a cavern near Morthal and be induces into their… clan.

After arresting Hroggar and getting the evidence to the jarl, the guards then also notified Aeyrin that they noticed two bite marks on Bishop’s neck as well as Hroggar’s. It appeared that Alva weakened the men this way in order to charm them and make them do whatever she wanted… like burning down their families or killing their companions.

Aeyrin learned a lot about vampires from Stendarrite texts, but she never actually fought one before.

She knew they’re very susceptible to fire, as all undead are. She also knew that they could infect mortals with Porphyric Hemophilia, potentially making them into one of their own.

She’d need to watch Bishop closely after this for any symptoms. It was curable when caught early on.

That is… if he went back to normal after she disposed of the vampires…

Gods… she couldn’t even think of that.

It was almost dawn. The perfect time to strike.

Idgrod promised Aeyrin some guards to accompany her to the vampire lair but she refused. They needed to be on the lookout for Laelette and she wasn’t really certain on the whole charming thing and how it worked. If they turned against her… it would likely end badly.

Of course, there was the option that she would be charmed…

How did anyone _ever_ fight vampires?

She sighed and headed outside the longhouse determinedly.

Her Shouts would save her, there was no need to worry. She’d set the whole vampire nest aflame if needed. And she had Karnwyr with her, eager to avenge his friend.

They could hardly charm a wolf… could they?

…

There was a small crowd waiting outside Highmoon Hall for her… several villagers.

With pitchforks… and torches.

Was she about to get lynched?

“Dragonborn! We are here to help you rid our town of the abominations!” a burly Nord exclaimed as the five other people cheered proudly, raising their makeshift weapons up in the air.

Oh no… they were so excited! How was she supposed to reject them?

“I… I am very grateful to you… but it’s really dangerous and…” she stammered, giving them an apologetic look. Adventure was all well and good but even she was troubled by assaulting a vampire nest.

“We have a right to defend our home! We will go with you and send those freaks back to Oblivion!” a woman yelled upon which the villagers cheered again.

Vampires weren’t really from Oblivion, but that was beside the point.

“L-listen, I may need to resort to Shouting and there’s a lot of collateral…” before she could finish the thought they cheered again, very loudly and excessively this time.

This was… bad.

How was she to get rid of them?

They didn’t even have armor or weapons… it was concerning. She couldn’t watch out for them all.

“I’ll come with you too,” a familiar voice echoed from the back, sifting through the crowd.

The Redguard mage, the brother of the innkeeper, made his way to Aeyrin, giving her a sly smile as he turned to the crowd.

“We will be an unstoppable force with my magic!”

He smiled proudly as the burly Nord yelled at him angrily: “We don’t need none of your tricks! This is a matter for warriors! You’re an outsider anyways!”

The crowd suddenly started to boo him.

Were they really that concerned about mages that they would shun the help of possibly the most capable person in the village?

He would, after all, attack from a distance and not get in the way… and his conjuring skill would certainly be useful.

“I would actually welcome a mage’s help,” Aeyrin gave him a grateful smile as the villagers all looked at each other nervously.

There was a murmur among them before one of them called out: “Well… we’d likely just get in the way of his… spells.” 

The crowd dissipated rather quickly after that as the mage gave her a sly smirk.

“Falion, by the way.”

“Aeyrin,” she smiled at him gratefully again. That was a clever tactic. And she also kind of hoped that his offer of help was sincere. A conjurer with a good supply of fire atronachs would really be invaluable.

Luckily, the mage winked at her promptly.

“Well, shall we?”


	56. Up in Flames

_ Author’s Note: _

_Posting earlier than intended as thanks to everyone who supports me, comments, kudos, follows, votes and reads. It really means a lot to me that you enjoy my story. You guys spur me to write more and more :) :*_

_Enjoy the chapter <3_

* * *

“Do you have any idea how many are there?”

Falion asked as they stopped in front of the cavern at the outskirts of Morthal.

“Not really. There’s Alva and her master at the very least, then maybe Laelette. But there’s likely more of them,” Aeyrin shrugged uncertainly.

“I am aware of their weakness to fire but other than that, I haven’t devoted much of my studies to vampires – the Daedra absorbed my attention completely. Although, I have to say, they _do_ seem to be fascinating creatures. This charming ability in particular draws my interest. After all, convincing a man to kill his family, and your companion seemed rather fond of you before too, the power to make that happen must be… extraordinary,” Falion seemed positively enthralled. Hopefully he wasn’t planning to experiment with getting himself charmed while they were in that cave…

It was horrifying enough to see Bishop in that state and that was in the middle of the town. Being assaulted by a capable conjurer in a cavern full of vampires sounded even more dangerous. Although, granted, not nearly as heartbreaking.

They entered carefully, sneaking in with Karnwyr taking the lead, his nose to the ground, sniffing for any potential threats on the way.

They had to be careful – with no idea about the numbers they were facing, alerting the whole nest could prove catastrophic.

They reached a chamber with two of the creatures bent over a table with… something on it.

It looked like they were… feeding.

On closer inspection, there was definitely a person beneath them curled on the table.

“Fascinating… do you think the victim is being kept alive for continuous source or perhaps killed and sucked dry quickly for a one-time frenzy?” Falion whispered to her with a twisted amazement.

How could he be so enthralled with these abominations? They were vile, luring in innocent people and drinking their blood.

Blood… she remembered Idgrod’s premonition.

It made her strangely happy.

After all, it meant that there really was something to her visions, meaning that the feeling of hope and victory from the blue light that clipped the black wings… it could be real. There could really be a way to help defeat the dragons.

“There are only two, would you mind terribly, my dear, to preserve the corpses as much as possible? I would like to study them once we’re done. That means no burning,” he gave her a wry smile, eliciting a sigh from her.

Pursuit of knowledge was always worthwhile, but Falion was starting to worry her with his obsessiveness.

She nodded at Karnwyr and they both charged the feeding vampires, taking them by surprise, while Falion took a wild guess and attempted reanimating the victim’s body. It was a corpse, just as he suspected, and the mindless husk started to claw at the feeders in a matter of second.

While the creatures were preoccupied with their newly animated victim, Aeyrin smashed her sharpened mace into one of their heads and Karnwyr ripped into the other one’s throat.

“No! The teeth! That blow must have damaged the teeth….” Falion exclaimed desperately at Aeyrin’s attack and she threw him a level look. The man should be glad that the beasts were dead. Besides, the other one was somewhat intact.

The body of the young naked woman covered in blood and bite-marks slumped to the ground momentarily – it was quite horrifying what state she was in… there was hardly a spot on her body which wasn’t gnawed upon an bruised.

Aeyrin shivered.

She suddenly felt really glad that Bishop was sent by them to kill her instead of… this.

“They really left no inch untouched, huh? Impressive dedication… or was it desperation? The punctures are not even exclusive to major blood vessel locations… curious,” Falion studied the poor girl tentatively, brushing his fingers gently over the most prominent bite-marks.

“Falion, we should go on. I’m sure you’ll be able to study anything here after the danger’s over,” she interrupted his trance as he gave her a sheepish look.

“You are right. There’s at least one intact vampire and one victim. We can go ahead and use everything in our arsenal now… although having the master’s corpse preserved would… hmmm… we’ll see,” he chuckled at Aeyrin’s exasperated expression.

…

They continued through the cavern undisturbed for a while.

There were no hints of vampires, however, there were numerous signs of them – namely the blood traces all over the place and even an occasional corpse or severed limbs. 

These things were… abominable.

She heard differing opinions on vampires from her Stendarrite brothers and sisters – some called them mindless animals, deserving of the same treatment as a bear or a wolf would; some considered them on par with Daedra – monsters deserving nothing but eradication.

She never gave much thought to it, but at that moment, she leaned towards the latter.

It was all the worse that the creatures were capable of masking themselves as people and that they were cunning and skilled enough to infiltrate, influence and charm the unwary.

She wondered just how much of an ordeal Bishop had to go through… the guards said there were only two bite-marks on his neck, but who knew? It wasn’t as if they could examine him properly with the strangely rabid state he was in. He didn’t even talk to her during their fight. Looking into his eyes and seeing… nothing, it was beyond terrifying.

And now these beasts were going to pay for that.

…

They reached a large cavern, sneaking in carefully. A deep raspy voice of a Dunmer was echoing through the halls.

“… didn’t bring _anything_. We are running out of cattle. If she doesn’t prove herself, we’ll go ahead and use her as a cover as originally planned.”

Aeyrin gestured at Falion to be quiet – they could learn more information about what happened from the vampires.

But who were they talking about? Laelette? She was supposed to ‘bring prey’ to the cavern, according to the letter the guards found.

“Where is your pet? It’s taking too long,” the voice growled irritably.

“He’ll be back… she won’t suspect him. We’ll have both of them here soon.”

That was without a doubt Alva – Aeyrin never talked to her but she heard her laugh carry through the tavern before. It was definitely her.

She was talking about Bishop and her. What did the vampires want with them?

Was it just to stop their investigation?

“I hope you are right, Alva. You are on thin ice yourself… attracting attention as you did,” the voice growled – he seemed to order her around – it was likely her ‘master’.

“Master, that was Laelette’s fault again. She’s too feral… she’s lucky I was clever enough to fake her death. It would have been much worse,” Alva scoffed derisively, eliciting a substantially raised voice from the other vampire: “She’s a new one, what do you expect?! You turned her! She’s your responsibility!”

There was a moment of silence before Alva talked, in a much quieter voice.

“Master… I only meant…”

“Quiet!!! I smell… hmmm….” the master interrupted her immediately.

He smelled? What? _Them_?

“It’s time,” Falion whispered as he raised his hands readily.

She nodded at him, her shield in hand, she charged, heading towards the source of the voices alongside Karnwyr and, in a few seconds, a bright fire atronach.

There were four vampires in the chamber, all standing up swiftly from their dining table with another naked corpse on it, surrounded by pools of blood and severed body parts.

What did they even do with the lone limbs?

Did they use them as some twisted makeshift blood goblets?

Disgusting monsters...

Aeyrin didn’t waste time and charged one of the beasts with her shield raised, tackling it to the ground.

Her mace landed in its face immediately, cracking of bones and a shower of blood the only evidence of its previous un-life.

The atronach burned another creature steadily, its screams echoing through the cavern.

She suddenly felt crackling magic around her and she saw strange little crimson lights circling her. A sudden bout of weakness enveloped her, forcing her to her knees, seeping the energy out of her slowly.

Karnwyr interrupted the magical attack by lunging at the master’s leg.

The master roared in pain and stared to shake his leg with force, sending the wolf flying into the large table, the carnage that was on it now splattered all over the chamber after Karnwyr’s impact.

Aeyrin managed to overcome her state rather quickly and got back to her feet just in time – she turned around only to see Alva’s long pointy nails scratch viciously across her face, catching her off guard.

A burning spread across her cheek and she startled enough for the woman to manage grabbing her hair forcefully with unnatural force. Alva yanked her head back, exposing her neck, her other hand, draping over Aeyrin’s armored body and pressing her into a disturbing embrace.

She felt her mouth close to her neck, her cold breath tickling her skin.

She needed to act.

“YOL!”

A large portion of the cavern was lit aflame momentarily and Alva’s fierce grip on her withdrew in an instant.

Aeyrin knew that Falion was still in the hallway, keeping his distance and watching over the atronach.

But then she remembered Karnwyr.

Oh Gods!

This was exactly why she was fighting alone after she left the temple. It was exactly why she felt like she could only ever rely fully on Bishop in battle – he could watch both their backs flawlessly.

Why would she go back to her reckless use of Shouts like that?

It was all her fault, she procrastinated with her practice, getting more interested in spending time with Bishop than in ensuring that her powers wouldn’t hurt anyone.

If she hurt Karnwyr, he’d never forgive her.

 _She’d_ never forgive herself.

Pained screams of the burning creatures echoed through the chamber as she yelled out for him, rushing towards the table.

She heard a low whine on the other side, running around the furniture to see him curled low to the floor.

He… he looked… fine?

“Karnwyr?” she asked uncertainly.

The wolf had his head hidden under his paws, his tail low and curled around his hind legs. There seemed to be some singed fur on his back, but it was only the very tips of his brown hairs – the flames obviously didn’t even graze the skin.

He raised his head tentatively, his expression joyful when he saw her face.

“Oh, thank the Divines! I am so sorry!”

He barked happily while the atronach was roaming through the chamber, burning anything that still tried to move. Karnwyr jumped up, his paws pressed against her stomach as she rubbed him behind the ear in relief.

“Well… that seems to be the end of it,” Falion seemed a bit sad as he looked around the room.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him anxiously, but truthfully her only thought was on Bishop and whether he was back to normal.

“I just… wish more was preserved. I believe studying these creatures will be certainly worthwhile. I wonder if there’s any humanity left in them…” Falion was pensive, looking over the charred remains of the vampires plaguing Morthal.

“They’re monsters. Look around,” Aeyirn scoffed in disgust, the images of severed body parts and lakes of blood swirling in her mind.

Falion gave her a sad smile, nodding, but there was clear doubt in his eyes.

She didn’t understand that.

Didn’t he see all this?

It was abhorrent.

The Stendarrites were right to despise these creatures – she was never more sure about her upbringing and faith than now.

…

Bishop looked around himself in confusion.

What happened?

What the fuck?

Was he… in prison? He was locked in a cell, completely empty safe for an uncomfortable looking bed and a bucket. There were no walls between the cells, just bars. He could see into every one of them. There were six in total and they were all empty. With no one to tell him how he ended up in there.

Alright… he needed to retrace his steps.

Did he get drunk? It was the usual reason why he would be in prison…

No… he remembered… He broke into Alva’s house… He went down to the basement.

There he saw a… what was it? Things were blurry.

Wait, a coffin!

That was it! She was a vampire!

But what happened then? He remembered seeing her, didn’t he?

She did something to him… some twisted vampire magic.

But why was he in prison?

Finally he heard heavy armored steps approaching from the stairs near his corner cell. A guard, no doubt.

“Hey!” he yelled at him as soon as the man entered the room. He looked kind of shocked, looking Bishop over very warily.

“What happened? Why am I here?” he barked impatiently. He needed to know what was going on. And where was Aeyrin? What if Alva got to her?! Vampires were so unpredictable and dangerous… 

“What… you… don’t remember? Attacking her?” the guard rubbed the back of his head nervously.

Attacking her? He must mean Alva. Shit, he attacked her and she got away. No one else knew what she was! And if she managed to go after Aeyrin before she could find him… Fuck, he needed to find her!

“Yeah! She was a vampire! Let me out!” Bishop growled at him, his hands gripping the bars and yanking them.

That… may not have helped his case…

“Ha! Right! The Dragonborn’s a vampire,” the guard scoffed at him, shaking his head.

What the fuck? Dragonborn? Does he mean that… he attacked Aeyrin? His eyes went wide at the man, his head swirling. What would _ever_ possess him to attack her? What has that fucking vampire done to him?! And more importantly, what has _he_ done to Aeyrin?

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Tell me what happened!” he was starting to get really irritated. Why did it take the guy so long to tell him what was going on?!

“You… uhh… attacked the Dragonborn. You were kinda… rabid. We were gonna put you down but she asked us not to. She told us to just arrest you. Then orders from the jarl came, that we were just supposed to keep you here until the Dragonborn says you’re free. Or kills you I guess.”

A wave of relief washed over him when he finally processed the information.

She was fine…

But what was happening? What was she doing while he was there? Was she talking to the jarl, asking for his release? She didn’t know what Alva was, only he knew! She was still in danger! There was no time for this bullshit!

“Where’s Aeyrin? The… Dragonborn…” he snapped again at the guard.

“Why? So you can try again?” the guard scoffed derisively.

“No! I didn’t… fuck…” he didn’t what? Mean to? He didn’t even know what happened! He just needed to know that she was fine. That he didn’t hurt her. That Alva didn’t get to her. “Look… I don’t remember what happened… But that woman Alva, she’s a fucking vampire. Just look in her basement! And I’m pretty fucking sure she’s after Aeyrin now. I just _need_ to know if she’s alright…” he sighed defeatedly, managing to give the guard a surprisingly pleading look.

The man frowned, but he seemed to be at least a little moved by Bishop. He sighed, taking a step towards the cell, but not close enough that Bishop could reach him through the bars.

“Yeah, we know. We know all about the vamps. Lady Dragonborn asked the jarl to have Alva’s house searched after you attacked her. She’s fine. She went to take care of the vampire nest,” the man gave him a reassuring smile.

That wasn’t fucking reassuring!

“A NEST?! There’s a whole fucking _nest_ and she went in there alone?” he snapped at the man instantly.

“Hey man, calm down! She’s the _Dragonborn_! I’m sure she can handle a couple of bloodsuckers. ‘Sides, the townspeople say that the mage went with her,” the guard shrugged noncommittally.

The mage? There _was_ that Redguard who helped them with the dragon. He probably meant him. Well… that was a bit better. A conjurer could just send his Daedra forth without risking being hit by the spell that he was and turning against her…

Still… he wanted to be there. It made him so anxious to know in what kind of danger she was and being this helpless.

“Just stay calm and you might even get out of here,” the guard smirked, turning on his heel and leaving him locked in the cell.

He should have argued more… He may have convinced him to release him. Then again, he _did_ say that he was waiting for Aeyrin’s orders on that.

Fuck, this was frustrating. Maybe he could think of something with a more level head.

He calmed down a bit, looking for his lockpicks.

Gone. Of course.

So were his weapons but nothing else.

Aeyrin probably told them what to take so that he doesn’t get out.

If he was really… rabid, and after her, he could hardly blame her.

But that meant only one thing.

There was nothing he could do but wait.

…

“Bishop?”

He snapped his eyes open at her uncertain voice beside him. There was so much worry on her face. She must have though he was still… rabid.

“Princess, are you alright? What the fuck happened?” he got up to his feet immediately, looking her over through the bars. He wanted to touch her instantly, but she was far enough so that he couldn’t. Fuck… she really must have been wary of him.

“Thank the Divines, you’re back to normal! I was worried that killing the vampires wouldn’t work…” she breathed out a sigh of relief and started to fumble with a key quickly, unlocking his cell.

She still had her armor on, stained with blood, her face decorated with three rather deep scratches, still grimy and there was a distinct smell of ash surrounding her. It was obvious she didn’t even bother healing herself and just rushed to the prison. The thought made his stomach flip warmly.

She lunged at him immediately, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck, locking him in an eager kiss.

He pulled away after a moment reluctantly, not able to stand the confusion anymore.

“Sweetness, they told me I attacked you! W-what happened?” he gave her a worried once over. The wounds she sustained were clearly not from him – the scratch looked like it was made by a claw or long nails and the blood on her armor didn’t look like it was hers from the splatter alone.

It was a big relief, although… when he thought more about it… it was a little hurtful.

Did he seriously _not_ manage to even scratch her?!

She was good, sure, but still… He would have expected himself to be at least a little challenging opponent for her…

Although… she likely healed herself before heading to deal with the vampires…

Yeah… she definitely did.

Not to ‘inflate his ego’ no doubt.

“Oh yeah. Alva must have charmed you or something. You were… like you weren’t even present. I don’t know… We scrapped for a bit, I used that ethereal form to avoid anything happening and the guards heard the Shout and stopped you,” Aeyrin sighed, shaking her head.

He gave her an apologetic look, cupping her wounded cheek and brushing his thumb very gently over the scratches. That _never_ would have happened if he was there to watch her back.

Then again… he didn’t know how much or how little it actually took for him to turn on her. He would have liked to think that whatever that spell was… it was powerful. Just seeing her hurt, even as little as she was… it was infuriating. He wouldn’t have done that right?

He would have _never_ turned on someone he cared about ever again!

She gave him a gentle smile, placing her hand on his upon her cheek. She turned her face slightly, planting a brief kiss into the palm of his hand.

Her gesture made it clear that she didn’t blame him for a thing. But he still couldn’t help but feel bad. If things went even a little differently, his betrayal might have cost her life. It might have cost _him_ everything…

“Come on, I’ll tell you all about what happened. But first, we have to stop at the apothecary for potions against the vampiric disease. Then we’re meeting the jarl. She wants to thank us for our service in protecting her Hold,” she smiled at him proudly.

He wasn’t sure how he protected the Hold from inside its prison, but rewards were always welcome.

…

After jarl Idgrod thanked them for helping her Hold again with a generous amount of money and promise of any other assistance she could give them in the effort against the dragons, they made their way towards the inn.

There was a commotion at the burned down house as they approached – several guards standing in a circle, looking at something on the ground.

Before they could approach, an angry yell interrupted them.

“YOU!”

They turned around simultaneously, seeing a young boy running towards them angrily – Virkmund.

The boy marched to Bishop determinedly, a glint of something in his hands.

“You did this! We had a deal!” he screamed at him, tears in his eyes as he raised his hand, a kitchen knife now plain to see.

Bishop grasped his hand in his swiftly and somewhat painfully for the boy, the knife fell out immediately and Virkmund cried out in pain, although it wasn’t certain whether it was from the physical kind.

He used his other hand right away to pummel into Bishop’s stomach angrily but the blows had very little actual effect.

“You told them about her! Now she’s dead! _You_ did this!”

Suddenly the object of the guards’ attention was clear – they found Laelette.

Bishop sighed, looking at the boy pummeling him with tear-stained eyes for some time before he spoke.

“Kid, that wasn’t her,” Bishop shook his head somberly as the boy stopped for a while. The anger did not disappear from his face, however.

“I saw her! They stabbed her and burned her! I saw her! You’re lying!” the boy clenched his fist around Bishop’s tunic, pulling at it in frustration.

“Kid, listen,” Bishop looked him in the eyes sincerely. It’s not that he could claim any knowledge on how to deal with children in this state – he’d dealt with many, being one of the eldest in his family, but he could hardly say that he knew how to treat someone from a… normal background.

Then again, who _was_ normal?

This boy’s mother was a vampire killed and burned right in front of his eyes.

“Your mother died. This wasn’t her. Something just… raised her body. There was nothing of her left though.”

It was the simplest way he could think of saying it. Going into the nuances of vampirism with him probably wasn’t a good idea.

The boy stared at him for a while, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re saying she was like a draugr? No… You’re lying! I don’t believe you!” he screamed again, but there was sudden uncertainty in his face – he didn’t hit Bishop anymore.

Bishop gave out a deep sigh, crouching by the boy to keep him at eye level, giving him a look as sincere as he could muster.

“Think about it. Do you really think that if she was alive, she wouldn’t come and see you?” Bishop asked.

It’s not like he would expect any parent to be decent in any situation – most people were generally assholes just looking out for themselves.

He figured the kid would believe it tough, if nothing, then because of the fact that he never lost hope for finding his mother before.

Maybe it was a lie, but in that moment, it was the best he could think to say.

He loosened the grip on the boy’s hand and he stepped away from him, sniffling.

He didn’t answer, his eyes downcast but he did nod slowly, turning on his heel somberly and running of into town.

“That was nice… what you said,” Aeyrin looked down on Bishop, giving him a gentle smile.

“I doubt it was true…” he scoffed derisively, shaking his head.

“Does it matter? He needed to hear that,” she smiled again, outstretching her hand to him to help him up on his feet. He took it, but the second he was standing he yanked her by that hand into a tight embrace, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

How did she always make him feel like a better person that he actually was?

The guards have scattered in the meanwhile, dragging something wrapped in cloth with them.

They went ahead to look over the burned remains of the house one last time in silence, walking through the ashes, now decorated occasionally by still burning embers.

“You’re back!” there was a familiar voice echoing through the rubble but no source was visible.

“Momma’s calling me! I know where to go now…” the voice was joyful, clearly at peace after a long wait.

“Thank you for coming to see me again. I have to leave now… I hope there aren’t any dragons there either…”


	57. Secluded Haven

They left Morthal the next day, leaving the mysteries of the eerie town behind them.

Idgrod’s vision, even though not tangibly useful against the dragons, gave Aeyrin some much needed ease.

It has been a while since they saw Delphine and the lack of communication from her was somewhat discouraging. There was no new information on the return of the dragons since the events at Kynesgrove.

Ulfric knew nothing, despite the odd timing in Helgen, the dragons were still appearing and killing them provided nothing but pain either.

They haven’t exactly been hanging around ancient ruins lately either, so there was no progress on learning new Shouts.

But Idgrod’s vision provided some assurance and hope for future endeavors.

Aeyrin even started to train her Shouts again, learning to control them better whenever they found a suitable place, after the uncomfortably close call with Karnwyr.

With no actual destination, they discussed their next course of action.

Aeyrin wanted to return to Windhelm to continue her pilgrimage, or to visit the College to get more dragon lore, however, the idea of returning into the mind-numbing cold was… unpleasant.

She more than readily let Bishop convince her to take a break in their adventures and enjoy some respite.

His ulterior motives were hardly subtle, but she didn’t really mind. In fact, since they couldn’t really enjoy much privacy in Whiterun nor in Morthal, it sounded rather perfect.

Besides, he _did_ look like he had someplace he wanted to take her and she was dying to see if he could ever top the beauties of the Rift or the hot springs of Eastmarch.

They traveled through the cleared passes back south, leaving the cold behind. Well… it was still cold, but it was at least bearable.

They pressed further without making camp on the way. The journey was getting long, but they had plenty of time before sundown.

They finally reached a familiar location – Brittleshin Pass.

“So… my guess is the Companion’s work is useless because more bandits always move in. We’re gonna have a fight on our hands,” Bishop smirked as they stopped in front of the old metal door into the ruin.

“There was no-one on the way here. We’ll be careful, but the pass should be clear,” Aeyrin shook her head at him with a smile.

Impressive, how optimistic she could always be.

Huh… he would have called it stupidly naïve just some time ago.

“Wanna make a bet?” he chuckled at her, winking conspiratorially.

She gave him a suspicious look, before answering: “I don’t know… It didn’t work out so well for me the last time…”

Bishop smirked. Yeah, right, as if she didn’t enjoy every second of being ordered around by him. They should definitely repeat that now that he didn’t need to adhere to any restrictions. Well, some restrictions still, but soon…

He didn’t really ask if she was ready to sleep with him yet. She was not about to tell him on her own and he kind of liked the fact that he could still be rejected.

It was more thrilling that way.

“You just know you’re gonna lose,” he snorted at her with a smug smirk.

“Am not! Fine! Same terms as last time?” Aeyrin pouted, flushing a bit at the suspected insinuations of their bet.

Bishop looked at her for quite a while, studying her face with a strangely conflicted expression.

Was he suddenly unsure of his victory? Or was it something else? He was the one who suggested the bet after all…

“We’ll… leave that for another time, princess. Let’s just go, before the sun goes down.”

…

The pass was surprisingly empty, making Aeyrin gloat the entire time and taunt Bishop about knowing he would lose the bet.

He didn’t really mind if that was what she thought.

Truth was, he didn’t really want the excuse of that bet lingering over them. And it wasn’t as if he needed the help. He could see in her eyes that she kind of hoped to lose. Then she wouldn’t have to initiate things herself, or even acknowledge that she wanted the same. He didn’t get why she had such trouble expressing her own needs – he could see what she wanted, but she always let her reservations get the better of her.

They made their way to the other side of the pass undisturbed, emerging in a lush patch of forest by Lake Ilinalta.

Bishop ushered her down the hill towards a small old pier with a fishing boat near it.

“Good. It’s here. I was worried we were gonna have to swim,” he grinned, getting into the boat, his pack slung on the bench beside him as he grabbed the oars.

Karnwyr gave him a questioning look for a while and she noticed Bishop shaking his head at the wolf briefly.

He barked as if in understanding and ran off into the surrounding trees, likely to spend his night hunting.

“Where are we going?” she raised her brow at him. Karnwyr usually ran off on his own when they were… preoccupied. They must have been going somewhere less accessible.

“Somewhere nice. Just get in,” he smirked and inclined his head to the boat.

He slowly rowed them to a small island smack dab in the middle of the lake.

The sun was just starting to set, the pink-red hue in the skies illuminating the scene in a fiery beauty.

The island was small, enough to perhaps fit their camp but other than that, there was only water around them. The ruins of an old fort were visible to the north and a picturesque mill to the south.

On the edge of the island, there was a standing stone surrounded by smaller monoliths, making a perfect semi-circle. The magic glinted from the small spots denoting the positions of the stars, The Lady engraved in a beautiful image around the constellation.

“It’s so beautiful here…” Aeyrin sighed, moved by the scenery. The setting sun added so much magic to the small island, but what was more important was the company.

Alone, without anyone or anything disturbing them… well… supposedly a dragon could still swoop in, but she wasn’t going to think about that.

She ran her hand over the cold standing stone, the magic stars the only thing emanating light and warmth on the thing.

“You know, there are some legends about these things,” Bishop approached her, placing his hand on hers.

“They’re not legends. These stones are aligned to heavenly objects. They provide blessings. Like the shrines to the Divines,” Aeyrin said, stopping the movement of her hand as his covered hers, enjoying the new source of warmth on the stone.

“Yeah, not those legends. The Nords believe that if you… ‘use’ one of these, you change your fate,” he snorted mockingly, obviously not impressed by the insinuation.

“I could use it and check the empty ‘Book of Fate’ again. Maybe I’ll avoid my imminent death,” she chuckled a bit.

She wasn’t even sure if she believed in predestined fate. If the choices in one’s life would not matter, then what purpose would it serve for Mundus? She shook the thoughts of fate and destiny from her head – it made her think on her place in Skyrim again, on the dragons and her role in their defeat.

She did not want to think of these things now.

“You know, I was born under The Lady,” she smiled a bit, as he wrapped his free hand over her stomach. Not that she could feel much with her armor still on, but being close to him was always both comforting and exciting.

“Of course you were, princess,” he chuckled. It fit her perfectly.

He moved his hand from her stomach to brush back her hair, messy from the wind and travel.

“What about you?” she asked after a while, pondering. The Shadow or perhaps The Steed?

Bishop stayed quiet for a while. He never really cared about this, but Liesl was obsessed with astronomy when she was a kid – she was pestering everyone about their birth signs.

It didn’t mean anything…

“The Serpent…” he grumbled, remembering how excited his sister was when she found someone in their family born under the rare sign.

Aeyrin gave him a curious look, smiling lightly and a bit sadly at the same time.

“’The most cursed and the most blessed’…” she said quietly, turning in his arms towards him, her face to his chest as she played with his armor between her fingers.

“Let me know when the ‘blessed’ part comes,” he scoffed derisively, watching her trace her fingers across the black leather.

She didn’t answer but looked up at him with a bashful smile, her face blushing, eyes hiding behind her lowered lashes a second later.

He thought to laugh at that, but the only thing he managed was an affectionate smile.

“We should make camp. It will be dark soon,” she disentangled herself from his arms reluctantly after a while, returning to their packs and rummaging for their camping supplies.

They rushed through preparing the fire and some dinner as the night fell, leaving their armor and boots off by their packs.

…

Bishop leaned in immediately after they finished eating, draping his arm across her waist and nuzzling his head into her neck, kissing and nibbling on her skin slowly.

She moved closer to him, straddling his lap after a while as his mouth never left the side of her neck. Her hands roamed through his hair and she pressed herself closer, moaning slightly under his ministrations when he grabbed at her backside with both his hands, squeezing her to him tightly.

She ran her hands down across his back down to the hems of his tunic, draping it over his head eagerly and throwing it somewhere without looking.

Bishop did the same with her own shirt, throwing it towards the bedroll by the campfire, his hands moving to her breasts immediately as she grabbed his face in her hands and pulled his lips to her into a deep long kiss.

The slow languid mood was starting to falter quickly as their movements got more frantic, touching and teasing each other eagerly.

“We should… ah… get rid of… the grime…” Aeyrin panted between heavy breaths and gasps as he slid his hand inside her trousers to run his finger over her naked flesh.

He pulled away from her reluctantly and freed her to stand up, following her quickly.

They got rid of their remaining clothes in a matter of a second, stepping into the cold water.

Aeyrin usually hated having to wash up in the freezing waters of the wilderness as opposed to the warm baths in inns, but Bishop was quick enough to warm her up, running his hands over her and pinning her close to him.

They worked on washing off the sweat and grime of each other rather meticulously, before the cold started to seep in, despite their ministrations.

Bishop ushered her from the freezing water after disentangling himself from the tight embrace that was warming them up.

She lay on the bedroll by the slowly dying fire, surrounded by small colorful mountain flowers, as he settled himself on top of her, his eyes roaming over her still wet glistening skin in the faint light, stroking over the contours of her body with the back of his hand gently.

She brushed her hands over his pecks, moving lower over his abdomen until she was slowly running the tips of her fingers over his hardness teasingly, the effect of the freezing water now long gone.

A growl formed low in his throat as his mouth descended on hers, his tongue probing her hungrily.

He pulled away after some time, looking into her eyes searchingly as she continued to tease him. He looked like he was trying to determine something before he dipped his head lower, his tongue running over the edge of her pointed ear.

“So… princess… you think you’re ready to take things further?” he breathed against her ear in a low voice, brushing her hair from her face before moving his hand to her breast, squeezing her eagerly, nipping at her earlobe.

She gasped under every little bite of his teeth and a soft scratch of his stubble against her cheek, his cock rubbing against the top of her slit pointedly.

She nodded, arching her back under his ministrations, her hand gripping around his girth firmly.

Bishop increased on intensity the second he felt her head nod against his, grabbing her hands and removing them from his body, pinning them down above her head.

He moved his mouth to devour her breasts, sucking on her hardened nipples for a while before he positioned himself lower, planting a deep kiss at the top of her slit. He let go of her arms and placed his hands under her buttocks, lifting her up towards his face.

Jolts of pleasure shot through her with every stroke of his tongue, her body quivering excitedly under him.

He sucked on her nub hard, making her arch back and explode with a loud moan, her hands grabbing his hair roughly, pressing him towards her even more.

Her knees felt weak but he didn’t let up, moving his fingers down and inserting two of them inside her, curling them and spreading them between their thrusts. He slipped his tongue back inside her, at times replacing his fingers, making her whole body burn, her heart threatening to leap from her chest.

She let out another loud moan as she came again under his touch, feeling him withdraw after a while, moving back face to face to her while he placed his fingers in his mouth, sucking her taste off of them before descending to kiss her deeply and languidly.

He looked into her eyes intensely after a while, a question hidden in his gaze. She gave him another determined nod, her flushed face decorated by a demure smile with just a hint of trepidation in her eyes.

He placed a gentle reassuring kiss on her forehead before he moved his hand down and spread her legs a bit further apart, running his fingers through her slit teasingly, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

She waited with bated breath as he pushed forward slowly, feeling him enter her slightly, spreading her a lot more than she expected.

She let out a high-pitched gasp at the sensation, her skin on fire. He leaned in to kiss her deeply, watching her flushed face after a while as he waited for her to get used to him a bit.

He pressed further in after a spell, filling her, moving deeper slowly and steadily until she felt a sharp sting of pain rush from below through the rest of her body, making her hiss through her teeth, closing her eyes firmly.

“Fuck… Aeyrin…” he gasped her name, a deep groan of pleasure escaped his lips before he kissed her again, now more gently, as a throbbing pain coursed through her groin, making her take several tentative deep breaths.

He waited without moving for what seemed like a long time, rubbing over her breasts gently, kissing her neck slowly. The strain and the need was palpable on his face, but he waited still, watching her breathing and her expression, enticing her with his gentle touches steadily.

Soon enough his lazy treatment started to relight her body with anticipation, the pain dissipating, replaced by only an unfamiliar feeling of being filled. The desire became overwhelming again, and she gave him a surprisingly lustful look to spur him on.

Bishop started to shift again when he felt her relax, his cock throbbing in her wet tunnel as he moved himself deeper inside her, then slowly out and back in.

There was another sting of pain as he moved too deep once, but it was much milder than before and he moved back a bit immediately, letting her take another deep breath tentatively, still getting used to his size inside her.

He was definitely too big for her, but it was starting to feel rather good.

He groaned as he started to move in and out slowly again, his hands kneading her breasts, his mouth sucking eagerly on his favorite spot on her neck as the electric jolts of pleasure started to course through her body with every thrust.

Her hips started to move against him instinctively when he quickened the pace, grunting against her neck as she felt herself clenching him inside her, the throbbing and twitching of his member becoming more and more pronounced when he rubbed against a place deep within, sending shivers down her spine with every second.

She arched her back under him, wrapping her legs over his hips instinctively, allowing him to slide deeper yet, this time with no pain accompanying the movements.

His thrusts became faster and shallower, jerking her whole body with each one, her breasts squeezed tightly under his hands as they gasped and moaned almost in unison.

She felt his balls slap against her backside with every thrust, the intensity of the movements getting somewhat forceful, stirring her inside with the frantic dizzying passion of their joining. She could feel herself getting close to the edge again, any pain or discomfort she’d felt before long forgotten, her mind only filled with pleasure and the thoughts of him filling her.

She felt the buildup inside her scream for release and then a powerful shock wreak through her entire body, her walls pulsating around his throbbing member, squeezing him tightly. He let out a loud grunt against her neck only a second later, the clenching of her insides making him shudder in pleasure.

She felt him spend himself deep inside her, warmth spreading through her core pleasantly, making her mewl under him.

She tried to catch her breath, her insides still pulsating wildly around him as he went for a few more lazy thrusts.

Their heavy breathing was the only thing echoing across the lake, aside from the sounds of the torchbugs and dartwings buzzing around in the moonlight.

Bishop brushed her hair from her forehead as he watched her face, still flushed with an affectionate smile, the sweat on their bodies turning cold in the late night air.

Aeyrin returned his smile, her hand stroking over his stubbly cheek when she raised herself up on arms much weaker than she expected and leaned in to kiss him.

“How’re you feeling, sweetness?” he smiled, running his hands languidly over her slowly quietening body, stroking her sides, her hips, then back up again.

She wasn’t sure if the smile she gave him was more affectionate or desirous. She wanted to answer further after a while, but gasped deeply instead as his hand moved suddenly to her slit to tease her again, his cock still sheathed inside her.

He chuckled and moved to kiss her neck again, tracing a warm line with his tongue down her collarbone.

They gradually started to explore each other once more, their calmed bodies heating up all over again.

She raked her fingers across his back as his hands continued to tease her mercilessly, his semi-erect cock hardening again inside her, making her squirm against him at the sensations.

He grabbed her by her hips, flipping them over suddenly, eliciting a surprised yelp from her as she was now straddling his hips, half-impaled on his member, her hands on his chest, supporting her weight.

“You up for another round?” he smirked at her, sitting himself up and burying his face in her breasts, biting and suckling on her skin.

She moaned loudly as his hands, still on her hips, encouraged her to move down onto him.

She started to slide up and down, a bit sore from their previous activities but very soon hit with more jolts of excitement, making her ignore any discomfort readily.

He thrust up inside from below as her movements quickened, impaling her hard and fast onto him, her name escaping his lips once again as he pressed his face between her soft breasts firmly.

“Aah! Bishop!” she cried out as she felt him enter deep inside her again, the shallow thrusts now constantly keeping her pressed to his lap.

Another surge of pleasure passed through her body, making her arch back, squeezing him tightly in her depths.

His hands dug deep into her firm hips, his teeth biting around her hard nipple and she felt him explode inside her again.

They spent some time resting in tight embrace, caressing each other’s heated bodies.

She didn’t even notice the cold air for one second.

They indulged each other several more times that night, the entire time spent in blissful haze of lazy teasing and hungry passion.

They finally fell asleep exhausted in early morning hours, hiding in the bedroll from the cold air against their sweat-covered bodies.

…

Aeyrin and Bishop spent three more days on the secluded island, their days and nights spent entangled in each other.

The need for supplies was the only thing that was pressing them to leave their haven.

Bishop even managed to shoot a slaughterfish through the water to provide them with more food and therefore more time to stay hidden from the outside world. His cooking really did get a lot better with Lydia’s tips; it was still not as good as hers, however.

It _did_ give Aeyrin an excuse never to prepare food again – he was simply better at it, it was only logical.

She got away with lazing around the camp while he prepared their meals, although he did insist on getting ‘rewarded’ properly for his hard work every time.

If only they could have stayed like this even longer, ignoring the dragons, the war and all the troubles always right at their heels.

Having only each other in their secluded haven.


	58. Party Planning

They left the small island after days.

Aeyrin wanted to take the southern route along Falkreath to Riverwood in order to get some supplies but Bishop insisted on going back to Brittleshin Pass and heading to Whiterun instead.

It didn’t really matter, they agreed to head back to Windhelm and then move on towards Winterhold, but his strange aversion to Falkreath was starting to get suspicious. She noticed him dissuade her from travelling through that area several times already and she couldn’t help but wonder what the reason was.

He made some excuses about seeing whether the pass was still clear and getting some new contracts from the Companions to earn extra gold, but she knew he would never care about either of those things enough to force the issue.

She left him to his secrets though.

She knew there was no point in forcing things. People were entitled to their secrets. Besides, it was probably something stupid, such as one of his old ‘acquaintances’ living there.

Karnwyr caught up to them just as they exited the pass onto the Whiterun plains.

He seemed a bit offended for being left alone for so long but his anger didn’t last long as Bishop started to head towards a nearby giant’s camp for his favorite activity – angering the enormous creatures and getting underfoot.

They were almost at the farmsteads near Whiterun when they noticed a man running towards them from the outskirts crossroad, waving frantically and calling out something unintelligible between his heavy breaths.

They met the man halfway as he bent over, attempting to catch his breath.

He was an Imperial with short black hair and bushy eyebrows with a large satchel over his shoulder, filled with papers.

“Oh… thank… the Eight…” he heaved, wheezing slightly from the run.

“You think he’ll keel over? ‘Cause I’m not reviving him…” Bishop smirked, earning an admonishing look from Aeyrin.

“Slow down. We have time,” she gave him a kind smile, waiting patiently for the man to speak.

“I… uhh…. I am with… the Imperial… Imperial Courier Service…” he huffed with effort, attempting to get the words out before he got his breath back. “You… are… really… hard… to find…” he shook his head, inhaling deeply.

He narrowed his eyes for a while, his breathing finally steadying. “You _are_ the Dragonborn, right? Bosmer girl named Aeyrin?”

She nodded a bit apprehensively, still a bit opposed to actually presenting herself as ‘the Dragonborn’.

The man looked relieved and handed her several papers from his satchel.

He did say he was a courier.

“Oh. Thank you,” she looked over the letters – there were two small folded notes and one more substantial letter in an envelope.

The Imperial nodded with a smile, looking back towards the road with a hint of desperation in his face – the idea of having to get back to running around and chasing people down was likely not a very pleasant one.

Aeyrin looked over the papers when he was gone. She opened the envelope to find the familiar neat tilted handwriting of Master Therien.

She decided to read the letter later. As curious as she was to see what her old mentor had to say about the events in her life, it would be better to absorb his advice somewhere other than the middle of the road.

She unfolded one of the smaller letters, only to notice the Imperial Dragon insignia at the top right corner.

.

_Dragonborn,_

_You are hereby cordially invited to meet with General Tullius, leader of the Imperial Legion forces in Skyrim, to discuss the current tumultuous situation in said province of the Empire._

_Please present yourself to the Imperial soldiers at Castle Dour in Solitude at your earliest convenience._

_Long live the Empire_

_Long live Emperor Titus Mede II_

_._

It seemed familiar.

The reason for this summons was without a doubt the same as Ulfric’s – offer of an alliance or a threat if she didn’t accept one.

Aeyrin groaned in frustration.

She really didn’t want to help _anyone_ spur civil war. As much as she despised Ulfric, she didn’t want to kill people who only wanted the freedom to believe what they wished – although… most Stormcloaks she’d met until now did not seem the noble freedom fighters she would have hoped. But she still wasn’t going to help slaughter all of them.

At the very least, she could use the excuse for now that she was nowhere near Solitude.

The General couldn’t possibly expect her to drag herself across the entire province just to accommodate him, right?

For all he knew, she had dragons to kill.

She sighed as Bishop grabbed the note away from her, rolling his eyes with a groan at the content.

“Great… as if Ulfric wasn’t enough…” he scoffed, nodding morosely to the other folded note in her hand, expecting something very similar.

She unfolded the note tentatively, praying that the contents would actually be something she wanted to see.

.

_I have a new lead. Urgent!_

_You know where to meet. Make sure you’re not followed._

_A friend_

_._

Well, that was almost refreshing.

At the very least they already knew what to expect from Delphine’s paranoia.

The part about it being time sensitive somewhat disturbed Aeyrin – who knew how long the courier was looking for her?

“We should probably head to Riverwood now…” she sighed.

Her curiosity about the Talos temple in Windhelm and anything Winterhold had to offer wasn’t ‘urgent’ after all.

“Good… I hate Windhelm anyways,” Bishop smirked.

He was actually curious about the lead the queen of paranoia would pull out.

“Wanna bet it’s something to do with the Thalmor?” Aeyrin chuckled at him, giving him a mischievous wink.

“I don’t take sucker bets, ladyship. And the next time you’re doing everything I say, it will be well earned, believe me,” he gave her a smug wink in turn, wrapping his hand around her waist, changing their direction towards Riverwood.

“We can still make it before nightfall. Let’s see what crazy wants.”

…

“Finally! I thought you wouldn’t get my message in time! Or that something happened to you…”

Delphine exclaimed as they entered the secret room behind the closet at The Sleeping Giant Inn.

“Sorry, we were out in the wilderness for a while… What’s so urgent?” Aeyrin blushed slightly at the recollection of the reason they eluded any civilization for some time.

Not that she knew how the courier would have tracked them even if they haven’t.

It was eerie. One man, running around Skyrim, likely relying on rumors and hearsay for his target’s location… he must spend his entire life running. Or did Delphine sent copies with several other couriers? That seemed unlikely… with how secretive she was.

“I have a lead on more information on the resurrection of dragons. Luckily, you still managed to get here in time. We have only a little more than two weeks to…” Delphine breathed out a sigh of relief before Bishop interrupted her.

“Two weeks?! The fuck, woman? Don’t you know what ‘urgent’ means?!” he barked at her in exasperation, shaking his head, scowling deeply.

“Great. _He’s_ still here. I thought by now you would have left his drunk ass somewhere in a ditch,” she wrinkled her nose at Bishop with a derisive smirk.

“Again, ice-brain, this is a tavern. People drink here!” he rolled his eyes at her with a snort.

“It’s not like I’ve seen you do much else besides threaten me with a knife under my throat and complain about everything,” she narrowed her eyes.

Aeyrin wasn’t really sure if this was all some harmless teasing or genuine dislike, but it didn’t change the fact that it hardly got them anywhere.

“Alright, enough. What’s the lead, Delphine?”

“Right… I know what you think of the theory, but I am still convinced the Thalmor _are_ involved. Luckily there is a way to get proof.”

She started to pull out several parchments, splaying them on the table.

Of course, she blamed the Thalmor for everything wrong with the world… however, there was no harm in verifying her suspicions, was there?

“This is the Thalmor embassy,” she pointed to a map of two larger buildings with a big yard around them. “If they have any sensitive information, it would be kept there. That’s why we need to infiltrate it,” she gave a sly smile, eliciting another scoff from Bishop.

“Sure… let’s just ‘infiltrate’ an embassy full of Thalmor. That’ll end well,” he gave her a level look, knowing full well that she wasn’t kidding.

“I _do_ have a plan!” she snarled at him, pointing to one of the buildings. “Here, the ambassador is hosting a… get-together. It will include Skyrim’s cream of the crop,” she gave out a derisive scoff at that. “It’s the only time when the security will be focused on this building, instead of the other one,” her sly smile returned as she gave them a conspiratorial look.

“You want to break into the other building during the party?” Aeyrin looked at the map with uncertainty. It was unlikely that there wouldn’t be _any_ guards outside and inside their target building. Besides, she was a horrible sneak! How were they supposed to accomplish this?

“Exactly. If we make some sort of distraction at the party, it will be all the better,” Delphine pondered, tapping a finger on her chin.

“Wait… so you want to sneak into both buildings? But the guards will be…” Aeyrin scowled deeply. It was even worse than she thought.

“Not at all. I actually have access to an invitation to the event. One of you, preferably the illustrious Dragonborn, can get away with the pretense of being invited to the party while the other sneaks into the other building,” she beamed proudly at her plan, leaving them staring at her dumbfounded.

“What the fuck was with the ‘we’ shit? What will _you_ be doing while we’ll be risking our necks to Thalmor torture for your paranoia?!” Bishop lunged at her, contempt palpable in his voice.

“The Thalmor would recognize me! You two have no apparent connection to the Blades! Besides, it’s the best plan! The Dragonborn is a believable guest at such an event and you… well… you look sketchy enough to be able to break into a place,” she shrugged, giving Bishop an unapologetic smirk.

“Fuck you. You’re delusional. Thalmor don’t give two shits about anything other than their Talos worshippers. I’m not taking that risk for that,” Bishop scowl deepened even further, if that were even possible. He crossed his arms over his chest determinedly giving her a mean look.

“Delphine… it does seem a bit… much. It’s just a suspicion, right? Can’t we just… I don’t know… find someone who’ll talk or…” Aeyrin tried to diffuse the situation. She really didn’t like that plan either.

“No! They’re Thalmor! None of them will talk! And it’s not just a suspicion! I _know_! If they’re not behind it, then they know something! Or they’re already after me… I… need to know what they know…” her fervor took a bit of a turn into desperation. She looked over the plans hopelessly, scanning them over and over again.

“Delphine…” Aeyrin gave her a sympathetic look, shaking her head nonetheless.

“I just… look, I get it… but it’s the only lead and… we _need_ to know what is going on,” she sighed in resignation, looking at Aeyrin pleadingly.

“Please, just… go to Solitude. I’ll try to find out the information another way but if I don’t… I’ll… I promise, I’ll make sure _everything_ goes smoothly. I have a man on the inside, I can get you equipment and anything that might be useful. I swear, it will be worth it. I will coordinate everything. There will be hardly any danger,” Delphine gave them another pleading look, eliciting a sigh of acknowledgement from Aeyrin and another scoff from Bishop.

“We… can go to Solitude, but, please, try to get the information another way… this… seems like too much for just a hunch,” Aeyrin shook her head defeatedly.

“I will. Let’s meet up in two weeks at sundown near the old mill at the city approach. We’ll discuss everything further there,” Delphine gave them a grateful smile, making Bishop snarl at her angrily, but luckily, he didn’t say anything further to fan the flames.

They returned upstairs to the common room in a rather unsettled mood.

Delphine’s plan was not exactly filling them with a lot of optimism.

They sat themselves at their usual table, ordering some dinner and a room for later.

Aeyrin tentatively unfolded Master Therien’s letter after a while, hopeful that it will ease her uncertain thoutghs at least for the night.

.

_Dearest Aeyrin,_

_I was glad to receive your letter. Many of us have been thinking of you, wondering how your pilgrimage is progressing and praying for your safety with the latest rumors about the situation in Skyrim. You have been missed in our halls, child._

_I was dismayed to hear of your turmoil. I am saddened that I cannot give you more information regarding your newfound powers. We are no better equipped with knowledge on the nature of the Dragonborn than the Nords of Skyrim, I’m afraid. I understand your trepidation regarding this supposed ‘blessing’. I am inclined to believe that this is no blessing of the nature we are familiar with. Nor am I, however, worried you should fear this as you would a curse. It is a challenge, my child, a new aspect of life you are faced with and must learn to live with. I am certain you are up to the task, but I fear what it may represent to you. You are a bright and courageous woman, who has overcome much. A new circumstance should not change that. Do not let talk of legends and destiny turn your head; do not let other people’s expectations consume your identity. I am afraid that the only advice I have for you, is to surround yourself with those, who know you, those you trust, those who see you for who you are, who you worked hard to be; not those who would only see you as a symbol or a source of their salvation. You yourself know what it means to do the right thing. Be true to that and do not let the people’s ideas on what it ‘should’ be cloud your mind. There are those who would see you as a tool, as a weapon to be wielded against their enemies. Be wary of them and do not let yourself get sucked into their battles against your convictions._

_I understand that such big changes in life may bring about more tumultuous states of mind. But know your strength, child. You have overcome much and are capable of overcoming so much more. Do not fall into despair at your perils – rise to them and face them as I know you are able to._

_It is good to hear that you have found kindred souls among the people of Skyrim. The land is harsh and relying on friendship and companionship is no weakness. I am glad you found people you can trust and a home to return to. Cherish those gifts, but be aware that in times of troubles, you may lose much. Take them as an assurance that you are able to thrive in strife and know, that even if you lose those you care about, you have already found a haven in the inhospitable land and you may do so again._

_I hope your friends bring you solace and I hope your journeys always end in a safe haven._

_I think of you, I pray for you._

_And I hope I will get to see you again soon, my child._

_Stay strong. And know that there are people here that love you and care for you still._

_Yours, Therien_

_._

She folded the letter back into the envelope, placing it back in her back with a smile.

It always eased her mind to hear his words, even if he wasn’t there – the soothing voice in her head while she read was substitute enough for now.

She gently laid her head on Bishop’s shoulder. The fears about their current mission would return in a minute, but for now, while his voice still echoed in her head, she could enjoy the brief moment of calm.

…

“It’s ridiculous. Do you have any idea what the Thalmor would do to us?” Bishop grumbled.

They’d rested for the night at The Sleeping Giant and prepared set off towards Solitude in the morning. The trepidations about infiltrating the embassy returned all too soon, just as she suspected, and they’ve spent the better part of the morning discussing it with dismay.

“You heard her – she’s got someone on the inside. She’ll make sure it goes smoothly,” Aeyrin tried to calm him, but she was hardly convinced herself. Delphine’s information proved reliable before, but she also still seemed rather… unstable whenever the Thalmor were involved.

Would they actually ever go as far as resurrecting dragons?

And if so, could they ever hope to control them?

It all rang rather hollow.

“Even you don’t believe that, princess,” he scoffed, slinging his pack on his back as they took the road towards Whiterun.

“Isn’t it faster to go through…” she didn’t even finish the question before he hit her with a resounding ‘no’, his face irritated.

She was definitely doing it on purpose – his adamant refusal to go through Falkreath has become too suspicious. She didn’t pry though. She definitely would, if she didn’t think the reason was something trivial.

At least there was that.

She had no idea how much of his past he was hiding from her.

It didn’t matter. It was for her own protection after all.

He knew she could not take his warnings seriously, wanting to free the region from Thorn’s menace.

He could not let that happen.

She would lose. Like everyone did. No one ever beat Thorn – not him, not the other bandits and not even the fucking paladins.

Everyone just pissed him off more and he got worse and worse.

“Tell me about Solitude,” she broke the silence after they left the village, returning through the old familiar route around Whiterun.

She was excited to see someplace new for a change. It seemed like they’ve been walking the same roads for far too long. Southern Skyrim was beautiful, but seeing new places and meeting new people was what she loved most about her travels.

“It’s a pretentious gilded cage. What else is there to tell?” he grumbled.

“Is there any city you actually _like_ here?” she laughed, recollecting his complaints about every single town they visited.

“What’s to like? Besides, doesn’t it bother you that the glorious Empire will be expecting you to report for duty the minute you step past the gates?” he narrowed his eyes, thinking back on the letter from Tullius.

“It does a little, but there’s not much to be done. Who knows if they wouldn’t eventually send for me anyways? I’m just hoping the general will not be worse than Ulfric,” she shrugged uncomfortably.

All in all, her meeting with Ulfric could have gone much worse. From the rumors alone, he wasn’t beyond challenging her to a Shouting match right then and there.

Nevertheless, the outlooks for the capitol were somewhat bleak – the Legion at her heel and the Thalmor just waiting for a chance to sink their claws into anyone disturbing their operations.

It was looking to be an interesting stay.


	59. The Sung Heroes

They travelled again across the Whiterun plains, mostly staying out of the roads to make the journey shorter.

They passed along the mountains lining the plains to the north towards the village of Rorikstead.

With Delphine’s ‘urgency’ they still had plenty of time on the road, which they used to stock up on some loot to sell from several nearby caverns.

Solitude was sure to be more expensive after all. According to Bishop, it attracted most of Skyrim’s ‘nobility’ – whatever that meant. Aeyrin wondered if that included thanes. She was, however, under no illusion of thinking that she would ever fit in anywhere – even if they didn’t care about her race, she was hardly someone who exuded refinement.

She always thought that she would do fine in a more ‘cultured’ environment due to her upbringing in the temple, but both during the party with Mercer and at Alec’s performance, she realized that she stuck out like a sore thumb.

She always felt so uncomfortable in these situations.

They arrived in Rorikstead before nightfall, heading straight for the Frostfruit Inn.

The innkeeper grumbled at them when they entered, a few patrons raising their head at their arrival, then turning back to their tankards disinterestedly.

Aeyrin headed to the bar to order their food and drinks right away – they only sustained themselves on some dried meat on the way, devoting their time to raiding dungeons instead of setting camp an cooking something, making them so starved they didn’t even dispose of their armors beforehand.

“It’s still better than your food. You should take another lesson from Lydia,” Aeyrin grinned at Bishop in between stuffing herself with beef stew hungrily.

He narrowed his eyes at her but smirked and shook his head after a while.

It’s not as if Lydia gave him some groundbreaking advice, just some shit about seasoning, but it _was_ better to have food that was actually more than sustenance even on the road. Maybe she could help even more eventually.

They ordered a veritable feast for dinner, leaving a lot of their savings depleted again.

Most of the jarl’s reward was spent back in Whiterun on home furnishings and the rest was used mostly for supplies and food and beds in inns.

Luckily, they got some nice loot from the day’s plunders, but there was no good place to sell it until they made their way to Solitude.

Aeyrin decided to offer to play in the tavern – all the patrons looked kind of bored, maybe they would enjoy some entertainment and she could earn some extra coin. They were planning on stopping in another village for the night before actually making it to Solitude and they needed the coin for their stay.

The innkeeper didn’t look all that excited about her offer to play for pay but he did agree.

Luckily the patrons showed more enthusiasm – there was nothing as disheartening as playing for a disinterested audience. She knew that her music should be more of an expression of self, to experience the beauty of art as Dibella intended without the regard for the listeners, but that was much easier said than done.

Anyone would be affected by their surrounding crowd.

Luckily, those days seemed to be behind her.

She did perform a few times when she was starting up playing publicly and was met with complete indifference, but the more songs she learned and perfected, the more natural she felt in front of people with her lute.

It was so much different from being the center of attention for other reasons, such as being the Dragonborn. This didn’t make her anxious at all – it felt like they were watching her music, not her.

In some cases, that may not have been true but she was still hopeful that it was true in most of them.

She went to their room to shake off her armor and underchain before getting back to the common room, lute in hand.

She sang a song she learned from a group of travelling bards back at Brinna Cross Inn – it originated in Wayrest and told the tale of the fall of the sorcerer king Ranser.

…

They reclined in the common room for a while comfortably after her performance, ordering another round of drinks before they went to rest up for their upcoming journey.

Bishop’s eyes fell on a young man staring into their direction.

He noticed him looking over to them the whole evening, especially staring at Aeyrin while she sang. Well… everyone was staring at her while she sang, but that boy was bugging him.

Bishop threw him a mean look at which point the young man looked away immediately, looking half-embarrassed and half-scared.

“Who are you scowling at now?” Aeyrin chuckled as she noticed his expression – he was constantly scowling at everyone. How was that fun? It seemed an exhausting amount of effort to her.

He smirked at her but his eyes returned back to the young man who was now getting up from his feet and heading towards them.

He was braver than he thought.

“Umm… hi,” the young man waved when he stopped by their table.

He had light amber hair and patchy stubble, his clothes were dirty and baggy but it was obvious he was quite bulky and strong underneath – likely the result of years of hard farm work. There was really not much else than farms in Rorikstead – it was easy to assume.

“Hi. This is who you’ve been scowling at?” Aeyrin gave the man a kind smile before turning to Bishop admonishingly. “Don’t mind him, he scowls at everyone, it’s not personal,” she chuckled at the man lightheartedly, eliciting an exaggerated eye roll from Bishop.

“Oh… alright. I just wanted to… could I?” he pointed to a free stool at their table, sitting himself down after Aeyrin nodded at him.

“I’m Erik. We don’t get that many adventurers stopping by the village. Maybe it’s the lack of shops,” he smiled shaking his head a bit disappointedly. “And those that do don’t usually look… friendly...” he glanced at Bishop briefly, eliciting a chuckle from Aeyrin.

“Yeah… the ‘unfriendly ones’ give us all a bad name,” she laughed, poking Bishop teasingly in the upper arm.

He only rolled his eyes again, but at least he gave the scowling some rest.

“It must be an exciting life. All the danger and fighting… I wish I could do that,” he sighed wistfully looking past them as if at something faraway.

“Why can’t you? Grab a pitchfork and go stab a dragon or something,” Bishop shrugged with a smirk, taking a swig from his tankard.

“D-dragon?! By Ysmir, I hope I don’t see one ever,” Erik’s expression got significantly more nervous before he got back to his point. “I _would_ like to try my hand at adventuring though. But my father doesn’t approve,” he sighed sadly, looking down at the table.

“Fuck your father then. Just go kill something if you want,” Bishop shrugged seemingly disinterestedly, but she knew that he would hardly engage this much if he was actually indifferent.

He seemed to have a thing for encouraging people to break away from their upbringings and environments. Aeyrin recalled how he convinced her of the pointlessness of ascribing her new experiences to spiritual reasons – he seemed adamant that she should be doing things for herself rather than her faith, not realizing that it was the same thing to her.

It couldn’t have been easy for the boy to go against his father. Voluntarily abandoning family never was, no matter how unhealthy the relationships could be.

She would know.

It’s not as if she wasn’t still thinking about her own father at times.

Erik gave Bishop a bashful shake of his head, signaling his reluctance to just abandon his father due to differing opinions on his future.

“Why don’t you start small? Help with some local trouble, then come back home. Show your father that you can do this one step at a time,” Aeyrin smiled at him encouragingly. She noticed the family resemblance with the innkeeper – the older man certainly looked grumpy and stern enough to make his son squirm from his disapproval.

“I _have_ thought of that! I even… well, there’s been talk of strange noises in a nearby homestead. No one saw the owner for some time. I hoped to investigate, but… father thinks it’s something horrible. Like a vampire or a Daedra. And I don’t even have any equipment… I can’t afford it,” he sighed in desperation, giving them a helpless look.

“A… Daedra? Here? Why would he think so?” Aeyrin’s eyes went wide at the boy. What would a Daedra even want with an ordinary hut by an ordinary village?

“I don’t know… just old wives’ tales. But if they’re right…” the boy sighed.

They explored caverns in the vicinity and never found anything besides wild animals, trolls or bandits – it was hard to believe something so vicious would be nearby only because of some strange noises.

Then again, there _was_ a vampire nest near Morthal after all and no one knew a thing.

Anything was possible and this boy could get himself killed if he ever decided to disobey his father.

“How about this, Erik? We have some extra equipment we were going to sell. You’re welcome to it. We’ll accompany you to the homestead and see what’s in there together,” she explained reassuringly.

It’s not like they didn’t have some other loot to sell besides the armor and weapons they gathered – sure, it would dip into their funds, but it was worthwhile to help a young man on his path. He would see whether adventuring was really for him after a small expedition.

Bishop of course didn’t seem to think so, throwing Aeyrin an accusatory look at giving away their loot. Luckily he didn’t say anything, knowing full well that arguing was pointless.

“You would do that?!” Erik gasped excitedly. “You’re amazing!” his smile gave out a bit more reverence than necessary as he gaped at her. “I… uh… both of you, I mean…” he gave Bishop an uncertain look when he noticed his scowl return.

Aeyrin rummaged through their packs to find him some suitable equipment.

Erik did seem a bit perturbed by the fact that most of it was pried from corpses, but he needed to get used to this if he was going to be an adventurer – it wasn’t as if perfectly preserved arms and armor waited for him in ancient barrows on displays.

“Talk to your father, tell him we’ll make sure nothing happens to you. We’ll head out in the morning,” she smiled at the excited young man as they got up to get some rest.

Bishop draped his arm around Aeyrin’s waist pointedly before leading them to their room, making sure that Erik would notice and dispense with the puppy eyes.

She didn’t seem to notice his ulterior motive.

Good.

It’s not like the boy was a threat in any way, but it still pissed him off whenever someone leered at her like he didn’t exist, like it wasn’t obvious that she was _his_.

He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment though.

…

The four of them headed towards the nearby hut the next day after a hearty breakfast – yet another dip into their depleting funds.

Erik managed to convince his father that the expedition was only very short and that he would be fine and protected, although it took a lot of work on his part.

He was a bit surprised that they were travelling with a wolf of all things, but got over himself rather quickly. It was a good sign that he was easily adaptable – this lifestyle required it.

The young man was getting increasingly nervous as they approached their destination.

They stopped at the door to the hut, listening intently.

There were high-pitched squeaks coming out, which could have been any rat or bat, but there was also something else. A strange scraping and screeching sound which penetrated through the narrow cracks in the moldered wood.

“Do you know what it could be?” Erik whispered uncomfortably as they shook their heads in negation.

Karnwyr seemed rather calm though. If it were a vampire, he’d no doubt smell it, just like he did with Alva.

Then again, they never encountered a Daedra before, except for a summoned atronach, so who knew what he would do in that case?

Aeyrin took the front line, first testing to see if the door was locked. It was, but the wooden structure was so old and rickety that there was no point in wasting time picking it. She kicked down the moldered planks with ease and lunged inside, followed by the now riled up wolf and the nervous young adventurer.

She stopped within a second, staring at the scene in front of her in bewilderment.

It was so… anticlimactic.

There were at least seven skeevers crawling around the homestead and a corpse on the bed, gnawed upon and half-rotten already. Furthermore, there was one particularly cheeky skeever, scraping at something it its claws, gnawing at it all the while, creating the strange grating sounds.

It must have been made of glass or something similar to make such noise.

The skeevers turned on them almost immediately, attacking both Karnwyr and Erik as Bishop and Aeyrin stood by the doorway, watching the fight, both wearing a deeply disappointed expression.

There was really no need to rush into battle with some skeevers, Karnwyr alone could have taken care of them and at least Erik wasn’t in any danger.

The young adventurer hacked at the creatures with his new handaxe, dispatching them rather quickly.

After that was over, he looked at the corpse, studying it for a while before he turned to Aeyrin and Bishop.

“This is… did the skeevers kill him?” he frowned with a conflicted expression on his face.

“Not likely. They’re scavengers. They don’t attack unless threatened. They must have smelled the corpse,” Bishop shrugged, pointing to the dug-out hole on the cabin floor – large enough for the skeevers to squeeze through.

Aeyrin walked over to the skeever carcass that was making all the noise previously, nudging the body away with her foot and uncovering a slightly misshapen round object, glittering with a myriad of blue and green hues.

“Look! Here’s Lund’s journal!” Erik yelled out excitedly while he was searching through the cabin. “Here… the last entry. ‘Finally I can pay for the medicine! With the treasure I fished out, I will live like the High King soon.’” Erik looked around in confusion.

“There’s treasure?!” he exclaimed excitedly, obviously ecstatic that there was something more thrilling about their expedition than the skeevers.

“I think he meant this,” Aeyrin raised the pearl up – it was the size of an ironwood nut, likely indeed fetching a pretty price.

“Poor man must have been really sick,” she sighed, thinking that the small treasure could have really been his salvation. Back in Chorrol, they treated anyone, even if they had no money. She wondered if that was the case in Skyrim too – they certainly had to pay every time.

Maybe that was just one of the initiatives of the priests of Stendarr. Perhaps it wasn’t even the case for other chapels in Cyrodiil.

Erik sighed sadly, shaking his head.

His breastplate was covered in skeever blood and he really did look like a hardened adventurer right then.

“You can have the pearl, Erik. It was your tip that got us here after all,” Aeyrin smiled at him, handing him the only loot they could gather from the modest home.

“Thank you… but… it’s not why I came here… My father will never think me ready for the world for killing a bunch of skeevers.”

He looked so crestfallen.

Even Bishop felt a bit sorry for him. He still didn’t get why he bothered catering to his father’s wishes, but… maybe the man had _some_ redeeming qualities… he was likely projecting his own distaste to conform to one’s parents.

“So? Don’t tell him _that_. Just tell him it was a fucking vampire or something,” Bishop shrugged, folding his arms across his chest with feigned disinterest.

“I… you think so? But… what if I’m really not ready?” Erik looked at Bishop nervously but with a surprisingly hopeful twinkle in his eyes.

“You’re fine, kid. You handle the weapon well. Just keep to some wild animals for a while and you’ll get the better hang of it,” he waved his hand dismissively at Erik whose expression became more and more excited.

“We can back you up about the vampire. Just make sure you’re careful afterwards,” Aeyrin smiled at him encouragingly.

She couldn’t help but be a bit proud of how supportive Bishop was of Erik, despite his apparent indifference. She did notice that he was gradually less opposed to warming up to people during their travels, but it likely was mostly due to him being less grumpy with their developing relationship.

He must have been lonely before – after all, he did seem friendly with the people in Darkwater Crossing, maybe something happened to him before they met that made him withdraw himself.

…

Erik spun the tale masterfully and the whole village hailed him as a hero.

Aeyrin and Bishop confirmed that they didn’t even manage to intervene before he slayed the vampire and took away the small treasure that the creature wanted to take from Lund – aside from his blood, that is.

They claimed that the beast has been staying at the hut for some time after, feeding on both Lund and skeevers that got into the place.

They burned the vampire after Erik killed it, just in case, leaving nothing but ashes.

It was the perfect cover and Erik’s father actually looked proud and touched as his son boasted of his deeds.

They left the villagers to their celebrations after several hours, heading back towards their original destination.

…

After only an hour of travel, before reaching Dragon Bridge, they were forced to make another stop after an unexpected encounter with a large clutter of frostbite spiders.

Their armor was wreathed in spider webs, sticky and hard to move in.

They stopped near a bridge only a short distance away from the village, the sun already setting on the horizon.

They unfastened their armors, leaving themselves only in their clothing, working on getting the worst of the cobwebs out at least a little before they reached the settlement.

They were forced to spend quite some time there, the cobwebs were stubborn, sticking to every nook and cranny of their armors. Aeyrin would have had an easier time of it were it not for the underchain – every little metal circle was wrapped in the white stickiness.

“Fucking spiders! They can’t be challenging so they decide to at least be annoying…” Bishop grumbled as he worked on getting the substance from under all the buckles on his leather.

A rumble from the mountain to the west interrupted them suddenly.

Their heads snapped towards the area in panic – their weapons were already fine but the armor still needed some work, not to mention the time it took to put it on. If the beast decided to make its appearance fast…

As if on cue, the wafting wind of flapping wings echoed through the canyon, as the beast appeared right above the river, spotting them immediately.

They dropped their armors by the stream with no other choice than to grab only their weapons.

Karnwyr barked and jumper around, likely deciding whether to help or to run. It wasn’t as if he could have helped much – his teeth could hardly penetrate the thick scales and the dragon could squash him with one leg. Finally, Bishop yelled at him to run, realizing the situation quickly.

There were only the two of them this time – no guards, Companions nor even Delphine to help them.

The dragon plummeted towards them quickly, letting out a spray of fire as both of them jumped out of the way at the last second.

Without their armor, they were even more vulnerable to the beast, but there was nothing they could do about it now.

Bishop shot a stream of arrows at the dragon in flight while it circled above them menacingly. Two of them hit, eliciting roars from the beast as Aeyrin readied herself for its descent.

She still hasn’t figured out what the last Shout she learned did. All she knew was that it made the strange draugr mage fall under her mace surprisingly quickly. It was possible that it was merely weakened from her previous attacks, but it must have done _something_ to it.

She looked it up in her book on dragon language – it meant ‘kill’.

Convenient, put it obviously didn’t kill the mage outright.

It was worth a shot, however – there was hardly any Shout that would be better suited to use against a fire dragon.

The beast descended, snapping it’s jaws at her in a huge heave, making her roll on the ground to avoid it.

“KRII!”

The red glow enveloped the dragon entirely, making it stagger for a bit until it turned back in her direction. An arrow shot through its eye, hitting the mark perfectly and it turned to Bishop briskly, roaring in pain again.

Aeyrin took the opportunity to smash her mace into the side of its head and it completely shattered several of its sturdy fangs. Her arm ached a bit from the hard impact – it was stranger to fight without her heavy armor, every muscle in her body moved so freely and the momentum was all the more intense.

Being able to use her agility could be considered an advantage if she wasn’t so unused to it. It threw her off considerably.

She recoiled a bit, but managed to gather herself soon as another arrow shot inside of the dragon’s maw, lodging itself in the roof of its mouth.

“FUS RO DAH!”

Aeyrin hit the beast with a full force of her Shout after making sure that Bishop was not in the affected area.

The dragon, weakened in its state, nearly toppled over, staggering on its limbs in confusion as Bishop let three more arrows fly right into its face, hitting it once again in the eye and twice more in its maw.

Its legs gave in and its head fell heavily on the ground as Aeyrin smashed her mace into its maw again, delivering the killing blow.

Seeing the beast slump one final time, Bishop dropped his bow and ran to her, breathing heavily from the rush of adrenaline.

She dropped her mace too and knelt down on the ground, letting him wrap his arms around her reassuringly as the dragon was set aflame.

She braced herself, closing her eyes firmly when she saw the familiar light appear.

The horrible heat coursed through her again, an image of her skin covered with boils and burns appeared in her thoughts. It felt like her whole body was covered in melted flesh, sticking to her clothing uncomfortably. It felt like small chunks of her flesh were falling out gradually, replaced by a crust of charred meat. There was an intense burn inside her ears, making them ring piercingly and loudly. It seemed to deafen her.

She breathed out heavily as the horrid experience slowly subsided.

She opened her eyes slowly, looking over the skeleton of the dragon right by her side, just in the middle of the road.

It was over.

They won.

Alone. Without any armor. Against a dragon.

The pain was gone, now only replaced by pride and exhilaration.

They weren’t even wounded.

She always thought at the back of her mind that they would be lost without help.

They weren’t.

And it was even easier than she thought.

Her body was still covered in sweat but the ordeal was a distant memory now. She turned her head up to Bishop, who was looking at her with intensity.

It was a strange thrill, the rush of the battle still coursing through them, the adrenaline humming through them.

She almost lunged at him, her hands grabbing at his hair and her mouth fastening on his, her tongue twining with his eagerly.

His hands started to roam her back frantically, crumpling her tunic, squeezing her backside and pressing her closer into his embrace, before he moved one hand to the front to knead her breast eagerly.

She felt the painful stinging heat of the dragon’s soul be steadily replaced by the warm, pleasant one, spreading through her entire body, consuming her, as she moved down to kiss and nip at his neck.

It was like she was possessed, there was nothing quite like getting swept up in the feeling of their bodies close to each other, his touch exploring her hungrily.

He slid his hand inside her trousers after a moment of the frantic exchange, rubbing over her wet slit.

He broke his head away from her for a bit, looking into her eyes with a hungry state, an unspoken question in them.

Her thoughts swirled for a brief second with the facts of their current surroundings – they were in the middle of the road, a dead dragon right beside them, the mountains of the gorge probably creating quite an echo.

Somehow, however, she could not bring herself to care anymore as he slid his fingers inside her, eliciting a high-pitched gasp from her lips.

She nodded hurriedly, succumbing to the dizzying passion.

He removed his hand from within her, grabbed her by her hips instead and flipped her over immediately, setting her down on all fours before him.

She looked back over her shoulder in eager anticipation, watching him hook his fingers under her leather trousers and undergarments, pulling them down to her knees in one swift motion, baring her to him.

One of his hands returned to tease her as the other wrestled with the lacing of his own pants, freeing his hardness from their confines.

She braced herself, her fingers digging into the soil between the cobbles of the road, the tip of his hard cock pressing against her entrance.

He pushed deep inside in one swift, rough motion, making them both moan out loudly at the contact.

She bucked against him, clenching around him as he started to thrust into her hard and fast, the intensity of his movements betraying his need.

She cried out with every thrust that penetrated her deeply, her body heated and quivering under his treatment. It was so surprisingly freeing to have something that overwhelmed all her senses and absorbed all her other thoughts so completely.

She never thought she could get so thrilled by something that went against her need to avoid everything chaotic and frantic.

Perhaps this was the one instinct she could allow to spin out of control. To consume her.

Bishop eased the pressure of his fingers digging into her hips, pressing his torso down onto her back, wrapping one arm over her chest and entangling the other in the hair on the back of her head.

He pulled her up, her hands leaving the cobbled road, her back pressed tightly to his now straightened chest, his hand groping at her breasts through her clothes, the other one pulling her head down on his shoulder as his mouth descended to her neck, biting into it, his thrusts gained even more on intensity.

Her moans seemed to turn into a steady stream of unintelligible noise as she felt the buildup inside her explode, her pulsating walls clutching him inside her wet tunnel hungrily.

The feeling of her insides wrapping around him even tighter than before sent him over the edge alongside her and he let out a loud long groan when he let himself go.

They stayed in that position for quite a while, breathing heavily, their chests heaving in synchrony.

He kept kneading her breasts, his movements now calmer and slower, his member softening inside her, slipping out wetly after some time.

That certainly took the sting out of the whole ordeal of consuming the dragon’s soul.

She gave him a bashful smile as she dislodged herself from him, pulling her clothes back in place. She decided that she won’t be crawling back towards the river to wash up or get a rag from her pack with her trousers down to her knees, suddenly too aware of how exposed they were.

“Fuck, that was great, sweetness. We should do this after every battle,” he smirked at her slapping her ass playfully as he readjusted his own clothes.

She chuckled, swatting his hand away, looking around the road in case there was anyone in the earshot.

They made their way towards the river, picking up their armor and packs, way too unconcerned with continuing the cleaning now.

…

They arrived at Dragon Bridge as the sun has almost set completely.

Aeyrin looked curiously over the large stone bridge with the dragon head chiseled on the grand arch in the middle.

It was an impressive sight, the fiery glow of the setting sun making it look kind of like a real dragon.

Her attention was diverted from the architecture in a minute when she noticed a group of Imperial soldiers gathering further in a village with several citizens running around them frantically.

She shared a curious look with Bishop and they continued on towards the commotion.

“You! Citizens, where did you come from?!” one of the soldiers barked as he spotted them, his eyes somewhat frantic and frightful.

Bishop clenched his fist with his thumb sticking out and pointed it over his shoulder without a word.

Both the soldiers and the villagers gasped almost in unison, gaping at them.

“W-we… saw a dragon fly in that direction,” one of the villagers stuttered slightly, looking them over worriedly.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, we killed it,” Aeyrin beamed at them reassuringly.

None of them seemed to calm down however.

“That’s commendable, ma’am, but the beast is not actually dead. They look dead, then rise again. We need to evacuate the village. At least you bought us some time,” the soldier nodded at them gratefully, then started to gesture at the villagers to get moving.

Bishop and Aeyrin shared another look.

She really hoped to stay anonymous in the new places they visited. It seemed an unreachable goal now. “No… it’s dead… _really_ dead,” she sighed, addressing the soldier.

“Ma’am, I get why you’d think that, but please believe me, we have been through this before. You need to continue on your way. The rest of you, gather only the bare necessities and…” he gave her a dismissive wave-off before she interrupted him.

“It’s _dead._ I… consumed its soul…” she gave another deep sigh as the realization dawned on everyone in the crowd.

“You’re the…” the soldier gasped, drowned out immediately by a myriad of loud cheers and laughs.

A sudden chaos ensued as everyone started to huddle around them, patting them on their backs, cheering, congratulating, pawing and asking questions.

They were ushered into the inn without even realizing what was going on, treated to drinks, food and everything they didn’t even ask for as the villagers clamored around them for the rest of the night.


	60. Solitude

_ Author’s Note: _

_So many reads! I thank you all yet again for reading and commenting and everything else <3 And a special thanks to Hildr53 for her constant support :) I highly recommend her own fanfic on Skyrim Romance ‘Dragonsick’ available on AO3._

* * *

They walked towards Solitude practically hand in hand.

After the entire night of being beset by the cheery soldiers and villagers, it seemed like the last few moments of complete privacy they could get.

Karnwyr finally caught up with them – they haven’t seen him ever since the dragon appeared. Now he looked rather morosely at the approaching city. The prospect of being cooped up inside its wall with no excitement beyond chasing birds was not exactly pleasant for him.

Ever since they left Whiterun, Bishop hardly ever let the thoughts of his past plague him. Aeyrin’s constant presence at his side and their progressing intimacy pushed all other concerns aside steadily. There was still the occasional pang of guilt for keeping secrets from her, but he was doing it for her protection after all.

He _was_ doing the right thing.

The fact that he got to enjoy their closeness with no fear of losing her was an added bonus to that; and a significant one at that.

They entered the city gates, their attention immediately caught by the large crowd to their right.

There was a man standing on a large stone platform, clothed in tattered rags, hands bound behind his back and a block of wood with a bucket beside it was right by his shaking legs.

The large man beside him was draped in tight-fitting leather vest, decorated by metal rings all over it. His arms were uncovered, save for two thick black gloves, and they were very muscular, a large battleaxe was gripped by them firmly. The man was a Redguard, his scalp shaved and his expression stony.

The large crowd in front of the platform was silent, waiting expectantly for the scene to unfold.

The unpleasant memories of Helgen rushed through her, the fear of the headsman’s axe invading her thoughts again, the back of her neck burning unnervingly.

She hugged her arms around herself, creasing her brows, looking into the expression on the prisoner’s face.

She wondered if she looked that scared back then too.

And why were the Imperials in Skyrim so fond of public executions anyways?

“Come on, we don’t need to be here for that," Bishop draped his arm around her shoulders gently, ushering her away from the scene when he noticed her expression.

There was nothing to be done anyways, so what was the point of stirring bad memories?

He led her towards the open market, the tension easing only very slightly.

Her first sight of the capitol captured her thoughts so much, she barely managed to register the city itself.

She slowly managed to direct her mind away from the scene at the gates, looking over the grand city.

It was so colorful, much more than the rest of the cities they visited. Definitely much more than the monochrome Windhelm.

No wonder Ulfric was so morose.

The buildings were made from similarly grey stone, but they had beautiful red roofs, strings of colorful flags draped from one to another. The cobbled streets were beautifully light and thick with flowers and greenery along the sides. It was even more enchanting than Whiterun and the streets were bustling, even with all the people huddled back at the gates.

They reached the market square where Bishop directed her to a specific stall immediately.

An old white-haired woman was standing in it, crates full of green bottles all around her.

“Welcome! Would you like to purchase a bottle or two?” she smiled at them kindly as Aeyrin threw a questioning look at Bishop.

“Best wine in Skyrim, ladyship,” he gave her a wink, eliciting a skeptical look from her.

“It’s her first time, let her have a taste,” he chuckled, giving the old saleswoman an uncharacteristically charming smile.

She smiled back, pondering a while before she took one of the bottles and a tankard from the wooden counter, pouring a few sips into it and handing it to Aeyrin.

“I have heard rumors that Solitude might have some… illustrious visitors,” the woman gave her a sly wink, the news from Dragon Bridge likely already reaching her ears. Aeyrin didn’t respond to that, hoping the rumors would dissipate before she did something to confirm them.

She took a tentative sip, a strangely sweet and… spicy taste filling her mouth, her throat and stomach warming pleasantly from the alcohol.

It was… good.

Better than good. Better than she hoped to find in Skyrim. It was even on par with some of the wines from Cyrodiil.

“This is… amazing! What is in this?” she gasped. She never had wine with such strange but pleasant spicy aftertaste.

“That’s a secret, dear. But I’m glad you like it. Are you going to buy some bottles?” the saleswoman asked eagerly, taking the tankard away from Aeyrin.

“We need some money first. We’ll be back,” Bishop nodded at the woman as he chuckled lightly at Aeyrin’s still astonished expression.

“I can’t believe there’s _actual_ wine here!” she exclaimed when they walked away from the stall, making Bishop laugh out loud. Her snobbish attitude towards wine was really surprising for someone of her background.

“I’ll go to the pawnshop to sell our crap… well… what’s left of it,” he gave her a teasingly admonishing look. “Look around the markets in the meanwhile. If nothing else, this is the best city to shop in… and the most expensive,” he smirked, kissing her briefly on the top of her head and taking her pack for himself as he made his way back towards the wide street leading towards the gate, Karnwyr at his heel.

Aeyrin started to look around the stalls one by one.

There were so many books in one of them. She looked through them briefly, seeing if she found anything on dragons and their history. She did not. Most of the books there seemed to be either the same or similar to those popular in Cyrodiil – histories of the Empire, tales of knights and nobility and outlandish stories of other provinces.

She continued to the other stall which had a myriad of spices and foods. Maybe Bishop could try buying some and improving his cooking on his own. But it was likely not something to waste money on. Well, they would see how much they had left once they were about to leave Solitude.

The next stall caught her attention then.

It had a beautiful array of jewelry – necklaces, rings and earrings, playing in all the imaginable colors with intricate designs and shapes. The midday sun made them sparkle breathtakingly.

She was not one to drape herself in jewelry – it got in the way of the practicality of armor, but she always loved looking at it at least. Such beauty should always be appreciated, and the work put into it by the talented craftsmen too.

Her gaze fell on one particular decoration – it was a very delicate headband, possibly invisible in one’s hair, but at the side of it, right above where one’s ear would end, there was a rose. A beautiful red rose, carved, as if from glass, sparkling and… moving – opening and closing its petals, as if it was breathing.

She touched it tentatively, noticing the shopkeeper’s satisfied smirk at her fascination. The light tingle of magic coursed through the tips of her fingers – it was likely an illusion, probably trivial for the mage enchanting the headband, but it still looked so… otherworldly, like something worn by Dibella herself.

“Beautiful.”

A deep sonorous voice came from somewhere behind her back.

She turned around, looking at the source of it with surprise.

There was a man standing there, taller than anyone she’s ever seen, even taller than Bishop. She felt like he could stomp her to the ground like an ant with how tall he was.

He was an Imperial with the a strong chiseled jaw and kempt handsome appearance. His hair was short and black, brushed back neatly, his eyebrows were making his face seem stern but his eyes were gentle. And they were mesmerizingly blue.

He wore a full-plate set of armor, meticulously polished, bright silver with occasional golden engravings, glinting and shimmering beautifully in the midday sun. A large greatsword was sheathed on his back, decorated by a small golden dragon in place of its pommel.

He was like a knight from a story book.

“It is,” she smiled demurely, looking back over her shoulder briefly at the magical rose.

He gave her a kind smile and a polite nod, almost ending up in a bow.

“Excuse me, my lady, but… I was wondering. Do I have the honor of addressing the Dragonborn?”

She recoiled a bit, her smile disappearing. She really hoped she could avoid admitting this at least for a while. It seemed like that was not meant to be. Those damned dragons couldn’t just leave her with _one_ city where she wouldn’t be instantly recognized, could they?

“I apologize, if that was too presumptuous, my lady,” the man frowned almost immediately, noticing her conflicted expression. “You need not answer. I would still like to speak to you, if you don’t mind,” he raised his hands in mock surrender, giving her another kind smile.

She nodded, still a bit uncomfortable at his likely knowledge of her identity and waited for him to speak.

“I… could not help but notice the amulet you are wearing, my lady,” he inclined his head to her Stendarrite amulet, prominently showing atop her dark shirt without her armor on. “It is a customary talisman among the members of the Stendarrite congregation in some other provinces. Were you… aware of this?” he looked at her curiously, probably trying to ascertain if she had anything to do with the clergy or if she got it somewhere without knowing what it actually was.

“Yes, I know. I was brought up in the temple in Chorrol,” she nodded, taking the pendant into her hand and giving it a fond look.

His eyes lit up at her answer, going wide with surprise, then his smile turning heartwarmingly genuine.

“Pardon my manners, my lady. My name is Casavir, paladin of the Eight, from the Order of the Imperial Dragon.”

This time he did bow, well… as deeply as his armor allowed, his arm over his chest as he did, the smile still etched on his face.

She didn’t pay much attention to the paladin orders, but she’s heard of this one. Her good friend joined it right after his vigil – they served the Empire and Akatosh foremost, battling any threats and enemies to all the provinces under Imperial protection. Most of its members were schooled in the Imperial City with a few exceptions, such as her friend, then they were sent out into the world, usually settling in different provinces and watching over their people’s well-being.

It was not surprising that a branch of the Order could be found in the now tumultuous Skyrim – they were likely concentrating their efforts on the civil war.

“Aeyrin. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she gave him a smile in turn, blushing brightly as he took hold of her hand gently and ghosted a kiss at the back of it. He was so… courteous, but different from the men she encountered before. The only courteous ones she interacted with in Skyrim were mostly somewhat sleazy or overeager at the same time, like Mikael or Alec. This man was different. She couldn’t help but get a little lost in those blue eyes as he looked up at her before letting go of her hand and straightening back up to his impressive stature.

“I have never been to the chapel in Chorrol, I would be interested in hearing your impressions of the place,” he nodded at her encouragingly, his eyes fixed on her with kindness and curiosity both.

…

Bishop left Bits and Pieces with more coin than he expected.

He headed towards the markets, pondering what to spend it on.

At least several bottles of Evette San’s wine, that was for certain – Aeyrin’s expression was so cute when she tasted it, he had half a mind to jump her there and then.

He smiled to himself remembering their last encounter, after that dragon was dead. He never thought to be grateful for anything to any of those beasts, but that was… invigorating. He loved how swept away she could get – he would have never expected this from her back when they were only getting to know each other. She was still so bashful about all that, but when she got turned on, she was like a different person, all consumed by the passion.

They would certainly need money for a good room at the Skeever. The walls were thick there, it wouldn’t be hard to convince her that it was fine to indulge themselves, even in the crowded tavern.

Dammit, he couldn’t think of anything else lately.

The way she moaned and clenched around him when he was inside her… fuck, he would do just about anything to make that happen any time any place.

_Right, the money… focus!_

They still needed to stock up on some healing potions and… what was _that_?

He noticed a very tall figure clad in something disturbingly silver and shimmery.

No… that wasn’t who he thought it was, right?

He took a few hurried steps forward, the obstructing well revealing the familiar man in ridiculously shiny armor… talking to _her._

Was that really him?

Fuck, he didn’t even think of the possibility of running into _him_!

But more importantly, what the fuck was he doing talking to her?!

Panic rose in him suddenly.

What was he telling her? Did he know they were together? Was he pulling the same shit again? Was he trying to do the same fucking thing he did those years ago?!

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

She was smiling at him.

He looked at her like he wanted to devour her.

Fuck.

What the fuck was happening?

He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let him ruin this. He couldn’t let him take her away from him.

She was _his_!

He should kill him once and for all. That fucking bastard deserved nothing less.

_Get the fuck away from her, you piece of shit!!!_

His legs carried him forward. He didn’t even notice.

Fuck… he saw him.

…

Casavir’s expression suddenly hardened as he spotted something at the corner of his eye.

She looked towards the direction of his gaze.

It was Bishop with Karnwyr at his heel.

She gave them a smile, but Bishop looked rather angry. What happened _now_?

Suddenly a large armor-clad hand landed at her collarbone, pushing her back a few steps, her brows shooting upwards in surprise.

“Step away, my lady. That man is dangerous,” Casavir threw Bishop a hateful glare.

Did they know each other? Or did he just assume? A lot of people just assumed Bishop was a criminal or some such.

Well… he kind of was, but that was beside the point.

She never understood how they could tell. Maybe it was Karnwyr. Traveling through a city with a wolf by one’s side would seem fishy at best.

She chuckled lightly at Casavir’s overreaction but Bishop didn’t seem amused in the slightest.

With a gentle smirk and a shake of her head, she pressed her hands at the armored arm in front of her, making him lower it.

“The fuck are _you_ doing here?” Bishop growled, unbridled hatred in his eyes.

They _did_ know each other.

Of course Bishop hated him, who didn’t he hate? Has he even made a friend in his life before he met her?

“Mind your tongue in front of the lady, cur! And don’t step any closer!” Casavir spat at him with equal hatred in his voice.

This was getting a bit intense. What have they done to each other? She gave out a light laugh, slightly nervous at their exchange, before she decided to interfere.

“I’m quite used to it, Casavir, no need to worry,” she gave the paladin a gentle smile and stepped towards Bishop, outstretching her hand. He shoved her pack into it, his narrowed eyes still fastened on Casavir as an incredulous gasp escaped the paladin’s lips at their familiarity.

“My lady! What are you doing with this… this…” it seemed like he wasn’t even able to articulate the intended insult.

“ _YOUR_ lady?!!!” Bishop shouted, looking ready to actually lunge at the armor-clad man.

She quickly stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his chest calmingly.

“Alright, enough, you two!” she gave them both a stern look, hoping to seem more assertive than confused and uncomfortable.

“My lady, please you must listen to me! This man is a danger to everyone. You should not associate…” Casavir’s expression seemed almost desperate as he gestured rather expressively for such stern-mannered man before Bishop interrupted him with an almost feral growl.

“Stop fucking calling her that, tin-head!”

Casavir looked ready to retort before she raised her hands at them again in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

What happened between them must have been quite grave to cause such fury.

“Enough!” she raised her voice determinedly.

The two men remained glaring at each other before Bishop wrapped his arm around her waist swiftly, pulling her along.

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” he growled again, but she stood still as she noticed Casavir gesture for them to stop, still scowling fiercely at Bishop.

“Please, just wait a moment, my lady. There are things I wished to discuss with you,” he gave her a weak smile but his frown never disappeared from his face.

“She’s done talking to you!” Bishop barked again.

In an instant he was forced to recoil a bit when she threw him an outraged look. That was over the line! He did _not_ get to dictate who she could and could not talk to.

She flinched away from his arm with a scowl, making him drop it in surprise and… defeat.

“What did you wish to discuss, Casavir?” she turned to the paladin pointedly, ignoring Bishop’s mean glares.

“I… perhaps, it would be better to speak more… privately, my lady. Perhaps, you’d do me the honor of joining me for a meal tonight? _Alone_?” he threw another hateful look at Bishop, not even trying to hide his disdain.

Bishop would flip.

She could practically hear his blood boiling, even though her back was to him.

She was too upset with him though. She never though herself spiteful, but at that moment, he deserved it. Besides, it was not as if it was anything more than dinner. And if the paladin had things to discuss with her, having Bishop around would likely only halt any attempts at conversation. Plus, she was curious about what Casavir wanted from her.

“Alright,” she threw Bishop a meaningful look before he managed to interfere again.

He looked both angry and crestfallen.

It didn’t matter.

He would not get a say in who she talked to!

If he was worried about her letting another man seduce her, he did not know her at all. Besides, Casavir was a paladin. He took his vows already. It was not as if he even shown any interest in her in that way, so why was Bishop so upset? What happened between them that a simply her conversing with the paladin would rile him up like that?

“Would you join me at dusk at The Winking Skeever then? I would be truly honored to share your company,” finally Casavir’s façade turned back to the polite expression he wore before, his meticulous attempts to ignore Bishop’s presence completely now very palpable.

She nodded at him politely, and started to walk away from the markets, further into the city, hearing Bishop’s footsteps follow her closely.

…

Fuck, this was bad.

It wasn’t as if he could tell her not to talk to him!

Would she agree to the invite even if he didn’t snap like that before?

He couldn’t help it. The tin-head would ruin _everything_! He would tell her everything. And he would spin it in his own way, making him look like the worst person in the world.

Maybe he even was that person.

No.

He did what he had to.

Maybe she _would_ understand. Maybe if he told her… he could tell her his side of things. She was always so forgiving of his less than pristine past. She accepted him for it.

He needed to tell her.

She needed to hear everything from him.

Well… not everything.

He still couldn’t risk her going after Thorn. But some things… those that that damned paladin would tell her. Those that he told before…

“Princess…” he stopped her in her tracks.

He had to tell her.

She turned to him, arms folded across her chest, her expression both expectant and annoyed.

_Just tell her._

“…”

_Just tell her, you fucking coward!_

It wasn’t so bad, was it? It’s not like he did most of those things himself… he just… helped them along. And it wasn’t like he was the one to actually… drive the blade in… Fuck.

_She will hate you._

He couldn’t.

He’s probably never worn an expression that pitiful in his life, since it made her annoyed scowl falter. She looked at him for a long while before giving out a long sigh instead.

“Bishop, you don’t have to tell me how you know him if you don’t want to. But you don’t get to decide who I talk to!” she took up the scowl again, folding her arms across her chest once more determinedly.

He was such a coward.

She was so _perfect._

She knew how hard it was for him to talk about his past. She didn’t know why but she still accepted it. She deserved the truth. He hated himself for not being able to give it to her.

That fucking paladin would tell her.

Just like he did before.

It was no use.

But at least… at least he could still have today.

“Yeah… just… be careful around him, please. He’s… not what he seems,” he sighed.

The least he could do is shed some light on _him_. She believed that every priest, preacher and paladin took their ‘callings’ the same as her. She could never believe he was capable of the lies and manipulations that he was.

He knew it would sound like an excuse. If he called the tin-head a liar, it would only seem like he tried to undermine what Casavir would eventually tell her about him.

“He’s… just… don’t let him manipulate you,” he sighed defeatedly.

Anything he tried to tell her seemed pointless.

“Manipulate… what do you think he’ll try to do?” she shook her head at him, narrowing her eyes with a frown.

“Take you away from me,” he scoffed, more at himself than anything.

Surprisingly enough, her scowl turned into a smile as she closed the distance between them, patting his cheek with a slight smirk: “As if I would let him.”

He smiled despite himself.

It was not true.

But it was comforting.

He wondered if she would actually ever fall for Casavir’s charms after he made sure she despised Bishop.

He was sure that the paladin did the same to Elisie, tossing her away after he had his fun, breaking his precious vows... they meant nothing to him, he knew all too well.

It didn’t matter if Aeyrin hated him, he would not let her fall into the same trap.

“Ladyship… if he… tries… anything. Don’t fall for it. He’s not a good guy, believe me,” he sighed again, stroking over her hair with an uncharacteristically sad expression.

She looked at him wide eyed for a while before giving him a doubtful look: “’Tries anything’? Bishop, he’s a paladin. He’s not gonna ‘ _try anything’._ Didn’t I tell you about the vows they take?”

He shook his head somberly. Always so naïve.

“I don’t think they mean as much to everyone as you’d think. He’s still a man you know. And you’d make any man’s blood boil.”

She frowned a bit, as if remembering something, than gave him a mocking smirk.

“Oh poor me, the helpless damsel! I hope I don’t go weak in the knees and fall madly in love once a man spares me a glance!”

He chuckled at her, but it was more in pain than anything else.

He knew how this story went. He’s seen it before.

He wouldn’t allow that ever again.

But what could he do?   



	61. A Chaste Dinner

“I _really_ have to go… stop…”

Aeyrin groaned, half-heartedly pushing him away from her.

They roamed around the rest of Solitude for a while, visiting some of the more interesting places – avoiding Castle Dour in order to not get dragged in by the Imperials. On Aeyrin’s insistence they visited the temple and the Blue Palace gardens. She wanted to see the Bard’s College too, however there were some lessons in progress and one of the bards asked them not to disturb. Lastly they returned towards the city gates, settling in The Winking Skeever for a meal and a room.

They’ve spent the remaining several hours before dusk in the bedroom, relieving tension from their travels.

Bishop pulled her back towards him, grabbing her around her waist and dragging her across the large bed to rest her back on his chest as he started to bite into the back of her neck lightly.

She already managed to dress herself with some difficulty, despite his insistent wandering hands and attempts at undressing her again.

Now she just needed to escape the room – not that she really wanted.

Although she _was_ curious what Casavir wanted to discuss with her, Bishop made it painfully hard to leave the room.

His hand roamed under her tunic again, eliciting another frustrated groan from her.

“Bishop… I have to…” she gasped as he pinched her skin teasingly.

“Screw the paladin,” he growled. One of his hands started to stroke her upper thigh teasingly. “Actually… no. Don’t screw the paladin, screw _me_ instead.”

She chuckled, but finally managed to disentangle herself from him, getting up from the bed and looking over his naked body somewhat regretfully.

“It’s just dinner. I’ll be back soon,” she gave him a smile, but noticed how morose he got.

“Right,” he grumbled.

She’ll be back alright. Probably to tell him to get out of her life and never speak to her again.

He couldn’t convince her to miss her dinner and now there was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable.

“Just… remember what I told you,” he sighed in defeat, watching her tidy her ruffled hair by the large mirror in the corner of the room, her face still flushed and heated from their exertions.

She walked over back to the bed, leaning down to kiss him briefly in reassurance.

“I will,” she gave him a warm smile, turning on her heel and leaving him in the room alone, staring at the closed door after her.

…

She ran into the overcrowded common room, scanning the patrons – it was well past dusk, Casavir was sure to be there already.

A young Nord woman was playing the flute in the center and most of the tables around her seemed occupied by her numerous admirers. There were other tables by the bar – all fully occupied save for the one in the corner. There was already a single tankard on it, however.

She continued towards the bar, finally spotting the tall man, now out of his armor and in a rather fancy embroidered tunic and silk trousers, discussing something vehemently with the innkeeper.

“Casavir, there you are,” she rushed over towards him with an apologetic smile.

“My lady! I’ve been looking for you,” he looked her over with a worried expression.

It wasn’t as if she was _that_ late.

The innkeeper mumbled something incoherent morosely and tried to turn away before Casavir called back to him in a stern voice: “I expect exceptional service, my good man.”

His words were strangely charged, as if he was threatening him.

It must have been her imagination though. Why would he threaten the innkeeper?

Casavir inclined his head towards her, his eyes still scanning over her with a hint of worry before he nodded towards the table in the corner with a lone tankard.

They sat themselves down as a red-headed man with a white apron across his waist appeared by their side immediately, looking at them expectedly.

No one else seemed to be ordering at their table – this was strange.

“More water for me, please. And whatever your chef makes is fine with me.”

The server scoffed briefly before turning towards Aeyrin with a much kinder expression: “Interested in a drink? We have a very good mead made with juniper berry, it used to be produced in Helgen. A rarity, these days. Or, Evette San’s spiced wine, of course.”

She already had a goblet for their midday meal, the server must have remembered. It was really good and she was very tempted to have another one, but then she remembered her upbringing.

She was always taught to adhere to the same vows as the priests and paladins in the temple, both not to cause them unnecessary temptation and in case she decided to undergo the vigil eventually.

It’s not as if she _needed_ the drink and it would be rude to indulge herself while Casavir couldn’t.

“I’ll just have the same, thank you,” she smiled at the server, who merely grunted in response and turned on his heel.

Casavir smiled at her, but the crease in his brows was still apparent.

“My lady, are you alright?” he kept scanning her, as if there was something wrong with her.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” she smiled as the server returned, placing two tankards of water on their table before hurrying off again.

“You seemed a bit… heated when you came here. Did you get into an altercation?” he raised a brow at her. She could have sworn she saw a measure of disapproval in his gaze.

Well… if one could call _that_ an altercation…

“N-no… I was late, so I rushed here,” she gave him a demure smile, feeling her cheeks flush again.

Stupid Bishop… so distracting.

It was no wonder that the paladins thought avoiding such things would give them better focus, she could barely think of anything else, still feeling the touch of his rough hands on her body.

He narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t believe her, but instead of commenting on it further, he gave out a deep sigh, closing his eyes momentarily.

“My lady, may I inquire on how long you’ve know that… scoundrel,” his worried expression was back in a moment as he looked into her eyes.

It wasn’t hard to figure out who he was talking about.

“You mean Bishop? Several months already. We’ve met on one of the first days I spent in Skyrim. We’ve been travelling together ever since,” she explained, taking a long swig of the water to cool down a bit more.

Casavir looked positively shocked.

What did she say to cause such a reaction?

“You are travelling with him? My lady, that is dangerous. You don’t know what he’s capable of!” he gasped, horrified.

She might have taken him seriously, were it not for Bishop’s very similar reaction to the paladin.

It was clear that there was bad blood there and she was dying to find out why.

But Bishop had the entire day to tell her and he didn’t. It seemed, at times, as if he was bracing himself to tell her something, but changed his mind.

She knew his past was painful for him to talk about. Was it really fair to listen to what Casavir had to say?

He was obviously biased, and just from the way he addressed Bishop, it was clear he would not paint him in a positive light.

He likely barely knew him.

He certainly didn’t know the same person she did – the supportive, protective and passionate man she’s grown to care for.

“If he is dangerous, I can take care of myself. But really, he’s no danger to me,” she shrugged noncommittally.

Casavir’s eyes got increasingly intense and even hateful as he shook his head desperately at her.

“You’d think so, my lady. But your kindness blinds you. He is a danger to everyone,” he frowned deeply, taking a tentative breath to calm himself a bit. “Tell me, does he know who you are?” he looked at her with sorrowful eyes, as if breaking bad news to a child.

Did he know who she was? Of course he did! It seemed like he was one of the few people that actually did. Better than most in fact, save perhaps for Master Therien.

But Casavir certainly didn’t.

He knew only one thing about her – the one thing that everyone knew. He could only be referring to that.

“You mean the Dragonborn? Of course he does, he was there when I found out.”

Casavir looked shocked again, then his expression turned into a pondering one. He murmured something under his breath. She could make out the phrase ‘why would he’, but not much else over the noise in the tavern. After a while his brows creased again as he nodded in understanding: “Then there is only one explanation I can think of for why someone like him would travel with you for so long.”

“Excuse me?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

That was kind of insulting – why couldn’t he just travel with her because he liked her? Did there have to be an agenda?

“My lady, I… I meant no disrespect. Of course, without a doubt, anyone would be lucky to… I…” he stammered a bit, realizing what his sudden outburst implied. His cheeks colored in nervous embarrassment and his hands fidgeted briefly. He took a deep breath, composing himself, the serious expression back on his face momentarily. “Please, understand, what I meant to say is… that man only cares for himself. I couldn’t fathom why he would put his life in danger for _anyone_. I… I’m afraid that he would only talk with you in order to… sate his baser needs, seeing you as some twisted challenge when you refused him,” he shook his head in disapproval before continuing. “He probably thinks it some game, attempting to make you break your vows.” 

She sat there, slack-jawed, staring at him.

That was one damned big assumption.

Well… parts of it could be considered true, but it wasn’t as if their attractions weren’t mutual even from the start. Besides, she didn’t take any vows preventing that.

“I… I have no wish to cause you any hurt, my lady, but I cannot allow the man to manipulate you,” he sighed again, giving her a sympathetic look.

This was getting tiresome, and it assured her that, despite her curiosity, she had no interest in learning of Bishop’s past from Casavir – his versions of events seemed to include lots of embellishments. Bishop would tell her himself when he was ready.

She frowned at him, trying to sound as assertive as possible – she was no child to be taught about the dangers of wanton men. “Not that it’s anyone’s business, but I am a cleric at the church, I never took the vows which you are referring to. Other than that, I’d prefer it, if you left my relationship with Bishop for me to handle.”

He furrowed his brows further, shaking his head at her: “My lady, it is my duty to protect those who need it, not those who ask for it, as you well know. I cannot in good conscience let you return to that man without knowing his true nature. When I met him, he was a…”

“Stop,” she interrupted him with a scowl.

How would he know whether she needed protection? He didn’t know either of them – at least not now.

“Casavir, if Bishop wants to tell me something, he will. Until then, I’d hate to rely on renditions from people I barely met. If that is all you wanted to talk to me about, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

…

Bishop paced around the room, not really knowing what to do with himself.

That fucking bastard was undoubtedly just telling her all about him – well, all _he_ knew.

About him being a bandit, about him crossing the one person he was supposed to care about, about getting Jules killed.

Everything he told Elisie before, everything he spun into his own version to make her reject him.

Everything he did to ensure that Bishop had no one left… to ensure that he had no way of making things right for his brother.

And he was sure that the paladin did that for one reason only – to take her for himself, to swoop in like a big fucking hero and save the damsel, abandoning her after he was done.

He knew how it ended, but there was nothing he could do then – she didn’t trust him, she never wanted to see him again after everything that Casavir told her.

He was gonna do the same thing to Aeyrin – he was gonna make sure she despised Bishop, then he would swoop in again and after getting what he wanted, he would leave her too, alone and heartbroken.

Even if Bishop kept the truth from her, even if he didn’t tell her who he used to be and deserved for her to hate him for it, he still would never allow him to hurt her.

He had to do something to stop this.

Even if he couldn’t have her, he would certainly never allow that fucking tin-head to have her instead.

…

Casavir luckily ceased his attacks on Bishop once Aeyrin made it clear that she was not interested in his opinions on that matter.

He assured her that he had other things to discuss with her and they continued their dinner in a much more amicable atmosphere, the politeness and kindness that exuded from him when they first met returning steadily.

They discussed their upbringing and religion for a while, along with the reasons why she never underwent her vigil.

Aeyrin told him about her pilgrimage, except for the parts about Talos – he was, after all, cooperating very closely with the Imperial Legion as a paladin of the Imperial Dragon.

He told her that years ago he put in charge of a contingent of paladins and sent with to Skyrim to ensure that the Legion’s efforts there bore fruit, as well as to protect the innocents caught in the war’s crossfires.

The dragons came unexpectedly and only reinforced the need for their presence in Skyrim.

“It is, however, somewhat fruitless, since we cannot really kill the beasts,” he sighed, perceptibly weary of the situation.

“You tried?” she looked at him with curiosity. She always wondered what happened if a dragon attacked and she was not around. Mercer made it clear that it got up again, but what then? She doubted everyone had those nifty giant cages handy to entertain the masses.

“Several times, my lady. Once even right here near Solitude. Luckily it did not attack the city proper. They are powerful, but they fall down like every other vile beast. The question is, what to do after.”

“What _do_ you do after?”

He sighed, looking far away into distance, seemingly at a loss.

“Both the Legion and my contingent have been working on solutions together. We usually… move them, to lower the probability on their attack on the settlements. We have tried other things, unsuccessfully. We have removed one’s appendages, its bones, meat and organs, yet it regenerated fully – we merely saw a magical current course through the remains. We have attempted to throw the carcass into the Sea of Ghosts. It flew in from the depths after a time, hale and angry. Nothing we do seems to harm them.”

That sounded exhausting. They tried all that and… nothing?

Was she really the only one who could help?

She always hoped it was an exaggeration, even after Mercer’s party.

Maybe the mages at the College could find some spell or a ritual? Maybe the Greybeards could?

But if that were true, they would have probably already interfered.

It would be helpful if she at least knew how many dragons were there…

“If the rumors are true, the only thing _you_ need to do is… be present?” he gave her a questioning look, studying her curiously.

If only…

“Well… that’s not exactly… technically yes, but… it’s an ordeal. It’s painful and I think… I think it could kill me,” she sighed as he gave her a sympathetic expression. His hand rose at the table and hovered above her hesitantly for a while before he placed it gently on hers.

“That is grave news, my lady. But still… you have survived thus far. And as it stands, you are still the only hope to defeat them for good,” he gave her a gentle smile, as if he just gave her the greatest compliment.

It only made her more anxious, but how could she hope for him to understand – it was nothing but unimaginable honor for anyone but her.

“It was the main reason I wanted to speak with you, my lady. The dragons are a terrible threat to the people of Skyrim and I am determined to help get rid of them. That is why I would like to help _you_ ,” he smiled at her again, a determined look in his blue eyes.

“Help me how?” she tilted her head at him. She would welcome any help, but she couldn’t imagine what he could do, since he had no new information for her – that was probably the only thing she needed right now.

“By battling the beasts, of course. By fighting by your side, ensuring your safety as you ensure the demise of the dragons. By joining you on your travels,” his hand was still on hers as he gently squeezed her in reassurance, the kind smile still decorating his face, his eyes intense with resolve.

“You… want to travel with me… and _Bishop_?” she punctuated his name, making certain he knew she was not thinking of replacing him.

Besides, the two of them together? That sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

“I…” he gave her a perturbed look, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “My lady, I really think that you’d be better off…”

She gave him a stern look, making him stop his line of thought and retrieve his hand back from hers.

“Casavir, stop. I told you, I know Bishop well enough and I trust him. I am not leaving him because of your opinion of him.”

Casavir creased his brows, shaking his head. He sighed in defeat after a while, giving her a last hopeful look.

“I understand, my lady. You are cautious of a virtual stranger, that is only practical. I will… drop the subject for now, but I would enquire whether you’d be willing to spend more time with me while you are here in Solitude? I must say, I enjoy your company and I’d hate for _him_ to come between a potential friendship,” he smiled kindly again. Despite his insistence on trying to deter her from Bishop, she felt very tempted to spend more time with him, even though she barely knew him.

Strange, perhaps it was because of the easy familiarity she felt around him as a brother in her faith.

It _was_ nice talking to someone about her faith without being scoffed at. And he seemed like a kind man, when he was not talking about Bishop.

She nodded at him with a smile as he gave her one in return.

“That is excellent news, my lady. There’s an… event I would be honored to have you accompany me to, but there are some arrangements to be made beforehand. I will let you know when the time’s right.”

They said their goodbyes after some more small talk and she got up from the table after that, heading towards the backroom stairwell.

…

It’s been too long.

Over two hours.

What were they doing?

Stupid question… he knew what they were doing.

But she wouldn’t just leave, right? Not without her equipment at least.

He should just check that they were still there.

No, that would be too needy.

But then again, what was he supposed to do in the room? He should just go get a drink.

Yeah.

Nothing weird about that.

He just needed a drink.

He made his way downstairs with quick strides, scanning the common room. He didn’t see them anywhere. But where else would they be?

He went slowly towards the bar, his eyes still roaming over everyone in the room.

He’d just get a drink.

Where was she?

“Yeah?” the innkeeper looked at him expectantly.

She wasn’t there. The tin-head wouldn’t move that fast would he? But maybe he would. What did _he_ know?

“Where’s the elven girl and that paladin that were here?” he barked at the innkeeper. That’s not what he wanted to ask for, but it just slipped out.

Dammit. Did he even wanna know?

“Pff… that pompous git?” the innkeeper snorted derisively.

Well, his sentiments exactly but it still didn’t tell him what he needed to know.

“They left some time ago, likely to the bedrooms.”

What?! Did she go into _his_ bedroom? Was he serious? What the fuck? He suspected that the asshole would try something, but he never expected her to go along with it.

That was so much worse than he thought… fucking paladin.

He would not get her.

He would not get to touch her.

She was _his._

“Where’s his room?!” Bishop fumed.

He was wrong, he would not let her leave.

Never.

If she hated him, he’d make it right. But the tin-head would not get to interfere!

“Can’t tell you that, sorry, mate,” the innkeeper shrugged noncommittally.

“Do you not _want_ him to get a thrashing?! Tell me!” he yelled, the innkeeper’s face twisted into an amused smirk.

He pondered for a bit, then muttered: “The only room on the northern side. Have fun…”

He ran off, barreling through the common room as some of the patrons threw him confused stares.

He would break every bone in each of his fingers.

That fucking bastard would not get between them. He would not get to ruin everything again.

He reached the rooms, staring at the door on the northern side.

Knock?

No… he needed to catch him in the act, trying to put moves on _his girl._

He lunged himself onto the door, knocking it out of its hinges with the impact.

His eyes found the paladin immediately, sitting on a chair with a book in the corner of the room, his eyes wide, his mouth left ajar incredulously.

He was… alone?

Fuck…

“Have you gone insane?!”

The familiar voice rang behind him.

He turned around, staring at her, standing by the stairs with her hair wet.

She must have gone to the baths.

Fuck.

What has gotten into him? How was he gonna explain this without sounding like a deranged lunatic?

Not that it mattered, she probably already despised him enough.

She shook her head in exasperation, leaving right away back into their room, slamming the door behind her.

“I see you’re showing your true colors all by yourself,” the cold voice came out from inside the paladin’s room.

“I have no idea how you managed to manipulate her into even sparing you a second of her time, but I assure you, I’ll make certain that she won’t spare you another one,” Casavir was standing in the empty doorframe, staring him down hatefully.

“What did you tell her, you piece of shit?!” Bishop yelled at him, fury in his eyes. He knew already, but the paladin didn’t even answer his question.

Well, it was pointless anyways.

“I should gut you, where you stand for everything you’ve done. The only reason you’re still alive, is for her sake. But that won’t last, Bishop.”

He moved past Bishop sternly, heading down the stairs, likely to get his door fixed.

Bishop turned back towards the direction of his own room, staring at the firmly shut door.

Fuck, this was it.

All he could do now was damage control.

…

He entered the room with a deep sigh, seeing her sitting at the large desk, rummaging through her coin purse and checking her funds.

Crap… that definitely meant she wanted to leave.

He had to stop her.

“Oh look, you know how doors work!” she shook her head at him with an annoyed expression, then returned to looking over her money.

He didn’t really answer, just grumbled something unintelligible.

He couldn’t fathom what to say.

If he told her what he told Elisie back then… fuck, of course he told her, why wouldn’t he? And he insinuated it pretty clearly.

“Why did you do that? What exactly was that supposed to achieve?” she threw him another look, this time much angrier.

Was she still talking about the door?

Well, better than the alternative…

“I… thought you were there with him…” he grumbled again through gritted teeth.

Her look got more intense, the anger palpably seeping through.

“Do you have _any_ idea how insulting that is?! Do you know me at all?!”

He stayed silent for a while.

Why didn’t he count on that?

He panicked. He knew how manipulative Casavir was, and he could see in his eyes that he wanted her.

Fuck, who wouldn’t?

“I… just… figured… after what he told you…” he sighed, sitting himself on the bed defeatedly.

They had to get to that at some point, might as well just get it over with.

“What _did_ he tell me, Bishop? You know, I should have just let him tell me everything. Why should I trust you and give you the benefit of the doubt, when you won’t do the same for me?!” she shook her head again, turning back to what she was doing, pointedly ignoring him.

He _didn’t_ tell her?

No… it sounded like he tried, but she wouldn’t let him…

Was that for real? Was she really willing to wait for _him_ to tell her himself?

Somehow it made him feel worse.

She deserved an explanation.

He couldn’t tell her what the paladin knew. He tried several times that day and he just couldn’t. He was too wary of it driving her away. Even if he explained everything, even if he made sure she saw his side of things, somehow he knew that she would never look at him the same way.

And just the thought of that terrified him.

Besides, if he told her everything that the tin-head knew, he would eventually have to get to Thorn. And he couldn’t do that.

It was for her own protection.

But at the very least, she deserved to know why he freaked out like that. She deserved to know why every one of his rational thoughts went out of the window around that fucking paladin.

“It just…” he sighed before continuing, “the one time I tried to do something decent…” he shook his head incredulously.

He looked down on the wooden floor planks.

He hasn’t talked to anyone about him since he died.

The only ones who knew him were from the Guild, and it’s not as if there was anything to discuss with _them_.

“My… younger brother… the only one of them I actually cared about… he died a few years back. Some shit went down and those fucking paladins got involved.”

He didn’t look at her but he felt her raise her gaze from her coin purse and watch him tentatively.

“I didn’t know back then… but later I found out he… left a girl behind… pregnant. So I though… well, he would have wanted them to be taken care of... to be safe,” he placed his elbow on his knee, supporting his head with his hand as he still stared down.

“I gathered what money I could and found her… started hunting to earn more coin until the kid was old enough and she could find work at least. Then Casavir came. Apparently, he promised my brother if things went south, he’d take care of her and the kid…” he paused his expression turning hateful again at the memory of it.

“He took care of things alright. Spat shit about me to her, making sure she didn’t want any of _my_ help ever again, telling her I only wanted her for myself… as if I would do that to my brother… whatever… I thought if they were actually safe… what did it matter?” he scoffed derisively at himself.

He was so stupid to leave things be.

“I saw her a few months later. She was pregnant again… and that righteous tit was nowhere to be found. Likely afraid that his precious church would smite him or something for fucking that girl, now that there was proof,” he spat out venomously.

“Well… didn’t change the damned fact that she wanted nothing to do with me. I still tried to watch out for her… even if she didn’t accept anything from me, but… month or so later she and the kid were gone… the neighbors said they left Skyrim, but no one knew where,” he sighed.

He wondered if they were still alive.

Fucking Casavir… it was all his fault.

If he didn’t get involved, they’d be safe and taken care of. He wouldn’t even let him do _that_ for Jules… to make up for some of the shit that went down at least. All he wanted to do was do right by him. And he couldn’t. All because of that fucking hypocrite.

She watched him for a while as he was struggling with his emotions.

It was not what she expected.

She would have thought that Casavir merely caught Bishop doing something unsavory, for example during his time with the Guild.

Would he actually break his vows and sleep with the girl? That wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t abandon her afterwards.

But Bishop left out what actually happened. It was likely that he didn’t know, only filled in the gaps.

It was just as likely that something else happened, that someone else got the girl pregnant. It was a damn big assumption to make on his part, but… she couldn’t really blame him for thinking the worst after Casavir made such effort to keep him from his own family, right after his brother’s death.

She _did_ somewhat understand why Bishop behaved the way he did. He was worried Casavir would turn her against him in the same way.

It didn’t matter how much he overreacted, or whether he blamed Casavir for something he didn’t do, he was still obviously afraid of losing her.

Despite the somber mood, it made her heart flutter in her chest. She was a bit reluctant to overlook his erratic behavior, but she couldn’t help but think on how he must have felt the entire time she was with Casavir, constantly wondering if he was trying to dissuade her from Bishop again. To be fair… he _did_ try.

She got up and sat herself down on the bed next to him.

She had a million questions, but she could see how hard it was for him to share this much at least.

She knew how hard it was to speak of one’s painful past. He’d tell her when he was ready.

For now, he needed to know that she wasn’t going to abandon him for someone else’s words.

She took his hand and twined her fingers in his, laying her head on his shoulder, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand soothingly. She felt his head drop down to lean on hers, the light huff of his breath telling her that he smiled.

“What was his name?” she asked after a long while of silence.

It was the only thing she was curious about that she knew wouldn’t raise thousand other questions and force him to talk about something he wasn’t ready for.

“Jules.”


	62. For the Empire

“Where’d you get these?”

Bishop slowly traced his finger across one of the old scars on her left thigh, his head resting on her other leg, his body nestled in between them as she breathed out heavily, still flushed and winded from the unusual awakening.

“I would have figured they’d patch you up at the temple every time,” he pondered, running his fingers over another one of the scars, continuing even higher beyond the it teasingly.

“They’re from before…” she sighed, closing her eyes, concentrating on his touch rather than her memories.

They looked like claw marks, but they were clearly stretched on her skin, distorting their original appearance. He remembered her mentioning a Khajiit who was coaxing her father to use her to get money. He wondered if they were from him.

He waited if she would elaborate but she didn’t, her frown disappearing slowly and her face contorting in excited anticipation instead as he still travelled with his fingers above her scars.

It looked like she would rather not relive whatever it was.

Well, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t eager to oblige.

He brushed with his fingers gently against her wet lower lips, moving his head back towards her.

He listened to the low moan deep from within her throat as he spread her slightly, letting his warm breath tickle her, making her squirm under him.

He continued the ministrations for some time, alternating between stroking her lightly and running his tongue over her, always purposefully avoiding the places she ached to be touched the most.

“B-Bishop…” she stammered in frustration, quivering under him.

“Mmm… What is it, sweetness?” he chuckled lightly, making her squirm again as the heavy breaths tickled her mercilessly.

“Bishop… please…” she gasped, trying to rub herself against his hand, making him chuckle again, purposefully keeping his touch too light for her to find release.

“Mmhmm, I like the sound of _that_ , princess,” his voice rumbled deeply as he nipped at her inner thigh gently.

“P-please…” she gritted her teeth, too frustrated to resist his games.

“Please what?” he smirked, eliciting a groan from her as his tongue flicked over the top of her slit, his finger circling her entrance teasingly.

She flushed, raking her fingers into the mattress, biting into her lower lip somewhat forcefully.

“Do you want me to fuck you, princess?” he chuckled again, sliding his finger only barely inside her before moving up along her body, his face to hers as she nodded desperately.

“Say it,” he whispered in her ear, flicking his tongue over it as his finger still teased her relentlessly.

She let out a strained groan again, trying to withstand his torture a little longer.

It was impossible.

She flushed deeply, not sure anymore whether her body was heated from arousal or embarrassment.

“P-please fuck me!” it surprised even her how loudly she yelped that out.

Bishop laughed smugly, planting his mouth on hers and entwining his tongue inside, positioning himself between her legs and thrusting into her deeply in one swift motion.

She cried out, against his lips, raking her nails into his back and wrapping her legs across his hips.

Their moans and grunts echoed between the walls of the room for quite some time then, late into the morning.

They were only forced to disentangle themselves from each other shortly before midday, the hunger making them abandon their room at last.

…

Bishop watched the light play at the jewelry on the stall.

Aeyrin was talking to Evette San in the meanwhile, discussing some problem with her spice shipments. Maybe she was worried that she’d run out of wine during their stay in Solitude.

He smirked to himself and looked back at the overpriced trinkets in front of him.

He wondered for a while if Aeyrin would like any of that stuff. It all seemed too impractical for their lifestyle, but she never really took off the amulet of Stendarr. Was it because of her faith or because it was from him?

He didn’t really see the point in giving her a random bauble.

That wouldn’t mean anything.

Wait, why would he need to give her anything anyways?

He was in a strange mood since the previous night. He kept thinking about the fact that she actually refused to listen to anything Casavir had to say about him. He never even considered that outcome. Wasn’t she curious? Wasn’t she worried after the paladin’s outbursts?

Talking about Jules with her was easier than he thought. Maybe because she didn’t push him to tell her everything right away. She knew him so well after such a short time and yet she barely knew anything about his past.

He, on the other hand, seemed to be unable to anticipate her reactions.

If he were in her place, he would have let that damned paladin tell him everything.

Why couldn’t he bring himself to trust her as much as she trusted him?

Why couldn’t he have trusted Jules just the same?

It was all his fault.

He looked down at his hand, the silver ring paling in front of the myriad of colorful gems in front of him, but it still meant so much more than any of them.

But _he_ didn’t deserve it.

…

Aeyrin noticed him paying for something at the jewelry stall.

He stashed his coin purse back inconspicuously, his eyes darting to her briefly before he headed back towards her.

What was he doing? She couldn’t help but get a little excited that he might have been buying a present for her. He would hardly buy anything for himself at a jewelry stall, but then again, it wasn’t like him to spend money on impractical trinkets. The amulets he gave her before were enchanted and meaningful for her, it was likely that he wouldn’t just buy some pretty bauble for no reason.

“Hey…” he approached her uncharacteristically nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

She watched him expectantly, noticing him palming something in his hand.

“I… uh… here. I wanted to give this to you.”

He handed her a delicate silver chain, but instead of an amulet a ring was hanging from it.

She recognized it right away – she never saw him take it off. It was a worn silver ring with a wolf head carving on it, myriad of scratches were plastered on it and the metal was already dulled with wear and tear, but it was still beautiful.

She gave him a questioning look, baffled that he would part with it.

“Jules gave it to me… a long time ago. But I think it’d suit you better,” his smile was a little sad as he said that, his eyes fastened on the ring in her hand.

It must have been so important to him. Why would he give it to her instead?

“Are you sure? I mean… it’s beautiful… but, wouldn’t you rather keep it?” she looked up at him with uncertainty, the atmosphere strangely somber.

“I’m sure… like I said… it’d suit you better,” he gave her another sad smile, now finally looking into her eyes rather than on the ring.

She fastened it around her neck securely, tugging on the chain lightly to make sure it wouldn’t fall off.

“I wish I could have met him…” she said quietly after a while as he watched the ring nestled below her collarbone.

His smile turned less somber at last and he chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, he would have liked you. And I’d probably go grey with the two of you around in a ten-day,” there was so much affection in his voice. He picked up the ring in his hand briefly, playing with it for a while below her neck.

“I’d like to hear more about him, when you’re ready,” she smiled back at him, placing her hand on his and running her thumb over it gently.

Bishop didn’t answer, but nodded slowly, still toying with the ring.

“I’ll keep it safe,” she leaned in on her tiptoes to kiss him, running her hand in his hair as he responded eagerly, almost desperately.

“Ehm, ehm…”

A deep voice interrupted them suddenly with a pretend cough.

They turned to look at the man standing beside them – a soldier, clad in the leather armor of the Imperial Legion, looking at them rather sternly.

“Excuse me, Dragonborn, General Tullius is expecting you,” the man proclaimed resolutely, folding his arms across his chest.

“Now?” she raised her eyebrows at the rude interruption. The letter _did_ say at her earliest convenience. She really didn’t think it urgent. And she somewhat hoped she could slip through the city for some time before the Legion pounced on her.

“He’s been expecting you ever since you entered the city,” his tone was rather threatening, his expression still stern.

Aeyrin and Bishop shared a disgruntled look, but there was really no point in postponing this. She would have to deal with the Legion sooner or later.

She did get suddenly more nervous than before meeting Ulfric.

The truth was, she knew nothing about the General. She had some brief experience with Ulfric before and she knew enough rumors and how his followers behaved, but the same couldn’t be said for the Legion. She has, after all, been living under Imperial rule all her life and never really had an issue with it, aside from the restrictions of Talos worship – and she only concerned herself with that recently. That didn’t mean, however, that she wanted to join their slaughter of the Stormcloaks.

“Fine…” she sighed in defeat following the soldier towards Castle Dour with Bishop on her heel.

…

They were led through several small chambers of the building, constantly surrounded by grey stone and red banners with the symbol of the Imperial Dragon.

They finally stopped in a small room, looking more like an office – there was a large desk with a high-back chair behind it and two smaller, significantly cheaper-looking, chairs in front of it. There was a map of Skyrim splayed on the desk with little blue and red flags pinned in it at various locations. A large red banner covered the entire wall behind the desk and the rest of the room was decorated with various armor and weapon stands.

They sat at the two chairs, waiting for some time before an Imperial man entered.

He was surprisingly old, older than Ulfric for certain, with kempt grey hair and rather pronounced wrinkles on his face. He still looked in peak form, although that might have been the ceremonial cuirass he was wearing playing tricks on them.

“Welcome, Dragonborn... and someone…” he frowned at Bishop’s presence, who only gave him a dismissive smirk in response.

“Aeyrin. And this is my companion Bishop,” she scowled at Tullius.

She was getting a bit tired of being only ever called ‘Dragonborn’. She would have almost forgotten her name since she came to Skyrim, were it not for a select few individuals. First month or so of their travels, she even wondered if Bishop remembered her name, with all the nicknames he used instead.

“Pleasure,” he seemed either completely disinterested or actually upset for some reason. He kept frowning as he sat himself in his chair, scanning the both of them for a rather long moment.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she gave him and expectant nod, eager to end the uncomfortable scrutiny.

“Yes, of course. Me and everyone else it seems,” he still looked her over with narrowed eyes, as if trying to discern something.

What did _that_ mean? He really did seem angry for some reason.

“I hear you’ve been travelling all over Skyrim before reaching the capitol,” he continued, looking down on the map for a while, scanning some of the flags with his eyes.

Was he angry that she took long to get to Solitude? She didn’t even know when the Legion sent the message. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have more urgent matters to attend… most of the times anyways.

“My men have heard reports of your activities in Whiterun, Riften, Morthal…” he paused, strangely dramatically for a military man, before furrowing his brows even further. “Windhelm…”

Aeyrin gave him an uncertain look. His face was stern and somewhat frightening, but she couldn’t help but imagine him as a little boy, pouting that she talked to Ulfric before him.

“Yes…” she shrugged. Maybe he actually wanted to make her into a spy… As if any Stormcloak would trust her. Besides, she didn’t want to get involved with either side.

“Let me make one thing clear then,” he gave a deep exasperated sigh, obviously hoping she would elaborate more, “anyone who helps that madman in any way is the enemy of the Legion, no matter who they are.”

His face was challenging, scowl still permanent on it as he waited for her reaction.

“I… am not helping Ulfric with anything…” she squirmed a bit under his gaze.

It was strange, the man seemed definitely less unstable and dangerous than Ulfric, but she found herself even more nervous before him. Maybe because this time, she had no idea what to expect nor any time to prepare for the meeting. And she still didn’t know where she stood with the Legion. She never considered herself rebellious towards the Empire since no one really seemed to care much for Talos worship in Cyrodiil by the time she was older. From what she always gathered, the issues she minded later had more to do with the Thalmor than the Empire. She understood the reasons for signing the Concordat and always agreed that preventing more war and bloodshed was the best option.

“But you spoke to him,” he still scowled. She felt like a child being chastised for disobedience.

“Y-yes. He asked me to join his cause. I didn’t. That was it, really,” she said after a while of pondering. She felt strange telling him that but she couldn’t really think of a reason not to. Maybe it was because it felt like he was intimidating her to talk.

“I see. I suppose even Ulfric is not reckless enough to kill the Dragonborn,” his expression softened a little bit, but his next words hardly eased the atmosphere: “I am glad to hear you remain loyal to the Empire in this matter.”

She didn’t answer, shifting nervously in her chair. He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right either.

“Tell me, did you by chance find out what he knew of the return of the dragons?” Tullius laced his fingers together and put his elbows on the table with an interested expression, a large signet ring with the symbol of the Imperial Dragon now prominently displayed on his right hand.

“He doesn’t know anything… and before you ask, neither do I,” she shook her head wryly. She didn’t really believe Delphine’s theories about the Thalmor but it was better to be safe than sorry. Keeping the little information they had from any potential culprits and their allies was the least she could do.

“Disappointing. But I am still pleased to hear you have not joined the traitors to the Empire,” he gave a brief smile before his face turned stern again.

“Now to other matters. I would like you to report to one of my Legates to discuss further war plans and how to utilize your special abilities…”

“Excuse me?!” she gaped at him, the forwardness staggering her.

“What is it? You _are_ loyal to the Empire, are you not?”

“I am not a member of your Legion! Or are you telling me you’re drafting civilians now?” she yelled out incredulously, making him pause for a while and study her with a measured eye.

“If you insist on procedure, then I invite you to join the Imperial Legion, but I believe there are more pressing matters to take care of…” he started to ramble matter-of-factly, making her even angrier at his confidence.

“Thank you, but I refuse,” she folded her arms across her chest determinedly. “I will not be taking part in your war and I will not be using my ‘special abilities’ against soldiers… on either side.” 

He scowled deeply, searching her gaze again for a while, before speaking: “You have undoubtedly made an enemy out of Ulfric. The Legion can protect you from him. And you know that his men need to be stopped.”

“Frankly, General, all of you need to be stopped. And I can protect myself,” she scoffed at him derisively, the nervousness replaced by anger.

“Was that a threat?!” he rose from his desk abruptly, but she followed suit quickly, standing up calmly, doing her best to remain level-headed.

“Of course not. I am not getting involved in _any_ way. If that was all, General, we will leave you to your planning.”

Tullius didn’t answer, staring her down sternly but not stopping her from leaving either.

She walked out of the room determinedly, followed closely by Bishop.

…

“You know, watching you put these assholes in their place is really doing it for me,” Bishop snickered quietly into her ear as they were making their way through Castle Dour, looking for exit in those small rooms that all looked the same.

“Well, at least one of us enjoyed that… it was mortifying,” she cringed. She was never sure whether to be grateful when her anger took over, she always found herself wondering after if she was too reckless, or if she made a dangerous enemy.

“Aeyrin!”

A familiar voice interrupted them as a soldier approached them excitedly.

“Hadvar?” she looked at the tall Nord making their way towards them with surprise. Maybe she was more surprised that somebody actually didn’t address her as the ‘Dragonborn’.

“I heard you were in Solitude. And other things about you… you’ve been busy,” he chuckled lightly, giving her a conspicuous wink.

She scoffed a bit, flushing, hoping the conversation would take a different turn.

“Were you here to talk to the General? I heard he sent for you,” his eyes lit up slightly for some reason.

“Yes… he… wanted to talk… So what have you been up to?” she asked in hopes of evading this topic too, only to realize a second later that this question would likely not achieve that.

“Heh… you’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. Where have you been stationed?” he chuckled amicably.

Why did everyone assume she would just do whatever Tullius said? Why was she automatically considered the Legion’s tool?

“I didn’t join the Legion, I was just here to talk,” she frowned at him, annoyed with their assumptions.

Hadvar stared at her for a while, as if trying to discern her intent, his brows furrowing deeply.

“I thought you were called here to join our cause. Don’t you want Ulfric to be brought to justice for his crimes?”

“Sure… I just don’t want to help slaughter half the province to do so,” she scowled at him, tired of justifying herself. She sorely hoped that once she left Castle Dour, she wouldn’t be bothered again by neither Tullius nor Ulfric, but that was likely too much to hope for.

“We have to stop him no matter the cost. Have you already forgotten how we helped you? If it weren’t for the Legion, you would have died in Helgen,” he was still scowling at her, his friendly expression long gone.

“I also remember the Legion trying to execute me, just like Ulfric did. I’m not getting involved, Hadvar,” she shook her head at him determinedly and turned on her heel, leaving the soldier staring after her without getting another chance to speak.

When they finally reached the exit, she swore to herself never to return to Castle Dour again.


	63. Pampering

“Are you drunk already?”

Bishop laughed heartily, watching her sway on her chair in the common room of The Winking Skeever.

They spent the rest of the day lazing around Solitude, browsing the markets or just walking around the city. Their funds would suffice for a few more nights, but it was clear that they had to venture out some time before their meeting with Delphine and get more loot to sell.

“I’m not! I was… dancing…” she flushed in embarrassment. She might have had a few more tankards of spiced wine than she had usually with their meal, but the sad truth was, that she was merely attempting to sway to the bard’s temptingly rhythmic music.

Bishop laughed again, more loudly this time, bringing some attention to them from the nearby patrons.

“I don’t think you should call _that_ dancing,” he smirked at her, earning a light punch in his upper arm.

He scooted his chair closer towards her with a chuckle, draping his arm around her waist casually as she laid her head on his shoulder, snuggling closer to him.

“I definitely wouldn’t add it to your performances if we want to actually sleep inside for free ever again,” he snickered once more, pressing her closer to him as she punched him playfully again, this time against his chest.

A second later his amused grin got decidedly more morose as he muttered some curses under his breath, looking into the crowded room.

She followed the line of his sight, spotting the tall paladin making his way towards them.

Casavir approached their table with a curt polite bow towards Aeyrin, his eyes darting briefly towards Bishop, narrowing almost automatically. She felt Bishop nudge her even closer to him, the hand on her waist clutching her tightly, somewhat possessively.

“My lady, I am glad I found you here,” he gave her a brief smile, but his eyes were still frowning a bit and she could have sworn she noticed his gaze shift subtly towards Bishop’s grip on her once or twice.

“I-it’s nice to see you again, Casavir,” she squirmed a bit in the uncomfortable tension between them.

“You too, my lady. I was hoping to speak with you before tomorrow.”

She heard Bishop mutter something angrily, likely getting upset again by the way the paladin addressed her. She nudged him lightly with her elbow before turning back to Casavir.

“What’s tomorrow?”

“If you remember, I mentioned an event I’d be honored to have you accompany me to,” he gave her a kind smile, inclining his head slightly, trying his best to ignore Bishop by her side.

“Oh. Sure. What event?” she asked excitedly. Maybe it was something with his fellow paladins – she was interested in meeting them, getting to know more people from the Order. Maybe some difficult quest. She certainly hoped it wasn’t some sort of ceremonial dragon killing like Mercer’s party.

“It’s an annual event here in Solitude. I wasn’t certain if I could attend, I expected to be called off to my contingent for assistance, but it seems they resolved the problem without me. It’s a ball, my lady, to celebrate the coming of winter.”

She frowned at the insinuation of celebrating winter. As if Skyrim needed to get any colder! But then she realized fully what he just said.

“A… ball?”

“Yes, my lady. It’s held at the Blue Palace,” he confirmed, apparently deciding to disregard her disturbed expression.

A ball? What was someone like her to do at a ball? Would she have to… curtsy and socialize with nobles? Would she have to dance?! She probably would have preferred the dragon… at least she would know what to do with _that_.

Bishop snorted contemptfully, scowling at the paladin deeply. He didn’t talk, however, wary that an angry outburst would make her spiteful enough to accept his invitation. It’s not like a ball was her thing anyways. She wouldn’t want to go to something like that.

“I… it’s nice of you to invite me… but I’m not sure I’d be good company at a… ball,” she blushed slightly, squirming a bit away from Bishop as she felt his grip on her waist tighten again, his angry stare never leaving Casavir.

“Of course you would, my lady. I’d be truly honored to have you for company. Please, join me tomorrow. I was hoping we could talk more and enjoy the festivities together,” his eyes turned from stern to surprisingly gentle as he gave her another smile.

He was hard to say no to.

And perhaps it _would_ be fun. Their last evening together was rather pleasant, once they stopped discussing Bishop. Then again, what about Bishop? She doubted the invitation extended to him. Not that she needed his permission, but it felt a bit strange that he heard the entire conversation and wasn’t invited along. It felt equally strange to ask whether he could come, though.

Her eyes must have darted towards him briefly, because she noticed Casavir scowl again. He gave a deep sigh of defeat and muttered the next sentence through his teeth with palpable effort.

“You… are free to invite anyone else you may wish, if it is absolutely necessary, my lady.”

“Pfft, fuck off, tin-head. Do I look like some sissy-pants noble that would enjoy that sort of thing?” Bishop scoffed at him dismissively.

“Good. That’s for the best. I would loathe for the likes of _you_ to disrupt the event,” the paladin retorted with similar distaste, turning his eyes back to Aeyrin promptly, looking at her expectantly.

“Um… Casavir, I… don’t think I can actually afford to… fit in,” she bit into her lower lip nervously. She couldn’t even come as she were to Alec’s performance in Windhelm. It was very doubtful that she could go in her regular clothes to a ball at the Blue Palace. And ballgowns were likely expensive. She wasn’t even sure where to get one.

“Oh. Don’t worry about that, my lady, I will arrange everything. There’s a store at the marketplace that has an excellent selection. If you visit it tomorrow, I assure you, they’ll have everything you need. You need not concern yourself with the price.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. Was he really gonna pay for a dress for her? That was strange… or was it sweet? It made it kind of impossible to refuse now, though, since he was willing to go through so much trouble.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all…” Bishop snorted mockingly, earning another nudge from her elbow promptly.

“Thank you, Casavir, really. You shouldn’t have… I… I’d be happy to come with you to the ball,” she gave him a weak smile, still unsure of herself at a ball, but maybe she could just blend into the crowd somewhat and spend most of the night just talking to Casavir.

“Oh good, the tin-head gets to dress you up and parade you around while you get bored out of your skull,” Bishop scoffed again, his hand leaving her as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Bishop!” she turned to him in admonishment, earning an unapologetic shrug from him.

“Do not worry, my lady, the lowlife’s comments are hardly worth my attention,” Casavir retorted, pointedly turning his gaze away from Bishop.

“Good thing I don’t give a shit about _your_ attention,” Bishop spat back at him contemptfully, as Aeyrin sighed in exasperation. It started to seem that those two were enjoying sniping at each other more than they let on.

“I’m… gonna go get another drink…” she sighed again, getting up from the table promptly.

“My lady, I apologize if we offended…” Casavir creased his brows worriedly before she interrupted him dismissively with a curt ‘it’s fine’, eager to get away from their pointless arguments.

When she was far enough, over by the bar, Bishop leaned slightly over the table, narrowing his eyes at the paladin again.

“I don’t know what fucking game you’re trying to play, but it’s not getting you anywhere. The only reason she even talks to you is because she still buys that show you’re putting on. Once you snap, she’s gonna see right through that fucking mask and leave.”

“You assume a lot. Unlike you, I need not assume. I know you for exactly who you are. And she deserves to know as well. I will make sure that she sees that there are people with more to offer her than lies and tricks,” Casavir spat at him hatefully, his fists clenching tightly.

“Look who’s talking. Can’t wait to see how you’re actually gonna try to justify to her that your precious vows mean shit when you look at her.”

Casavir looked at him for a while with furrowed brows, as if trying to work out a puzzle. His look of disdain returned in a second, his head shaking disapprovingly: “You disgust me. She deserves so much better.”

“Good. ‘Cause that’s definitely not you,” Bishop growled at him, noticing Aeyrin returning to the table with another tankard in her hand.

“Watch your mouth, bandit!” Casavir called out, rather loudly, spitting the address at him like a badge of shame.

Fuck, of course he would call him that.

Did she hear?

Bishop stood up at the table, his fists clenching in fury.

That man was determined to ruin his life no matter what. He should just knock his teeth out. Or better yet, cut out his fucking tongue.

“Are you two behaving yourselves?” Aeyrin’s voice interrupted his seething.

She didn’t seem upset or confused. Maybe she didn’t hear.

“One of us is,” Casavir scoffed as she sat back in her chair, watching Bishop’s stance with a raised brow.

“Apologies, my lady. I should probably leave before this dog goes rabid. The name of the store I mentioned is The Jewel, I’m sure you’ll locate it easily in the marketplace. We should meet then at sundown and head to the ball. Perhaps at the city gates?” he gave her a kind smile again, pointedly ignoring Bishop’s hateful glares.

“Sure. I’m looking forward to it,” she returned his smile politely as he turned on his heel, heading towards the tavern exit.

Her gaze returned to Bishop shortly when he gave out a deep sigh, sitting back into his chair. He looked strangely worried.

“You _know_ you’re gonna hate it there, right?” he scoffed at her, his brows still somewhat creased, his expression strange, as if he was… desperate.

“I don’t know… Maybe it could be fun. And I wanted to get to know him better,” she shrugged, staring into the wine in her tankard, swirling it a little in her hand. She was still convinced that Bishop took a giant leap in his assumptions about Casavir. She understood why, but that didn’t mean she should distrust Casavir too.

“Why?!” he sighed out in exasperation. He really seemed overly concerned just then. She would have expected him to be more angry than anything.

Did he really think that Casavir would lure her away from him?

“I don’t know. He seems nice. And it’s always good to make more friends.”

“He doesn’t want your _friendship_ , princess. It doesn’t matter what he swore off. He’s still a man.”

She frowned at him. Even if he was right, it shouldn’t matter.

“Don’t you trust me?!” she raised her voice slightly, getting fed up with the insinuations that she was unable to resist the paladin for some reason.

“Yeah… I don’t trust _him_ ,” he sighed, his face still oddly more defeated than angry.

“Just… forget it. Let’s just go to bed, sweetness,” his arm snaked back around her waist again.

She was gonna protest once more about his insinuations, but his crestfallen expression was really throwing her off. It seemed like they were fighting, but he was still making that face.

She sighed, nodding slowly, not really sure how to continue the strange spat. She downed the rest of her wine and got up, heading back towards their room with Bishop closely behind her, his hand still touching her waist.

He clung to her rather needily for the rest of the way.

She was getting perturbed by his uncharacteristic behavior.

…

“Mmm… not yet…”

Bishop grumbled against her ear, his arm across her stomach pressing her back firmly to his chest.

“Bishop… I… ah…. really think…. we should…” she let out strained gasp, unable to finish the sentence as his hand snuck lower to tease her again.

“How long does it take to put on a dress anyways? We have time,” he chuckled, nipping at her ear while his finger rubbed through her wetness slowly.

“I don’t… nhhg… I don’t know… I never… ah!” she cried out, stammering the words out as his fingers entered her swiftly, curling inside her eagerly.

“You know this is _way_ more fun, sweetness,” he chuckled, his hard cock poking at the back of her upper thighs briefly before he positioned himself at her entrance from behind, rubbing against her.

She moaned loudly as he moved his hand from between her legs to squeeze her breast and pushed himself into her excruciatingly slowly, filling her pleasantly as the heat spread through her body.

She let out high-pitched gasp with every movement when he started to thrust into her, his fingers pinching her nipple to the rhythm, sending heavy breaths and occasional grunts of pleasure against her ear. Her calf moved back to rest on his leg to open herself more to him as his thrust got a bit faster and rougher, the arm resting below her head twisting to let him grab a mass of her hair, pulling her head back towards him as he started to kiss the side of her throat wildly.

“Gods… ah! Bishop!” she cried out his name when he rubbed against a place deep inside her, sending powerful jolts through her body with each thrust. She grabbed the wrist of the hand playing with her breast, digging her nails in subconsciously, his teeth nipping at her throat and ear when he quickened his pace again.

The frantic pace went on for some time, his breath tickling her ear as he gasped her name in between strained grunts, his hands squeezing her breast and her hair more firmly.

“Fuck… Aeyrin!” he gasped when his cock twitched inside her, warmth spreading through her a second later as he let out a satisfied groan, his grip on her even tighter than before.

She let out a series of unintelligible sounds, losing herself in the sensation, sent over the edge along with him, her whole body humming pleasantly.

“See? Much… more… fun,” he chuckled in her ear with heavy breaths, his grip on her easing lazily.

She groaned, reluctantly untangling herself from him and giving him a shy smile.

He stroked her bare back gently as she sat up on the bed, looking towards the ground for her clothes and pack.

“Are you gonna come with me?” she turned her head towards him with a pleading smile.

“I thought I just did,” he laughed at her cheekily, earning a playful punch on his chest as she flushed with a light chuckle.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I need to see the dress before I tear it off of you tonight.”

…

“Wel- ehm… welcome to The Jewel.”

An Imperial woman with dark hair, heavy make-up and rather strong perfume greeted them with a somewhat startled expression. It was palpable that she didn’t expect someone like the two of them to enter her shop.

To her credit, she _did_ recover quickly from the shock.

Walking into the store was like walking into another world entirely. Everything was bathed in the afternoon light from the large windows, the jewels and pearls, lining the dresses and accessories, glittering almost blindingly. There were gowns, shoes and jewelry everywhere, neatly displayed with meticulous care.

Everything was beautiful, but it made her feel somewhat intimidated. This was not a world she fit in. Definitely not one she was comfortable in.

“Umm… hello. Cas-Casavir said that…” she stammered nervously, still somewhat blind-sighted by the environment.

“Oh! You’re with Sir Casavir! Yes, he took care of everything beforehand. Please, browse our selection and pick anything you like,” her face turned much kinder as she inclined her head to her slowly. “Is the… gentleman in need of eveningwear too?” she turned her gaze to Bishop, both somewhat disturbed and curious at the same time.

“Fuck no!” Bishop scoffed derisively, earning an admonishing frown from the shopkeeper.

Aeyrin walked through the store slowly, looking over the myriad of dresses playing in all colors.

She had no idea how to even start to choose. And would something even fit her there? It looked like the store was catering to more races than just the Nords, so hopefully she could find something that didn’t need to be pinned or cut.

It felt like she walked through the store twice already. Everything was beautiful but she was still at a loss at how to choose. She looked back towards Bishop. He wasn’t paying her any attention, staring at one of the displays with jewelry somewhat ponderingly.

“Would you like me to help, milady? I think I have just the thing for you,” the shopkeeper startled her as she appeared behind her suddenly.

Aeyrin gave her a bashful nod, grateful to be spared the process.

…

Bishop stared at the glittering jewels in the display absentmindedly.

She looked really nervous to be there, but maybe she would eventually grow comfortable in places like these. It was only a matter of time before nobles started clamoring for the attention of the Dragonborn, this might likely be more of a regular occurrence to her.

He didn’t want that to happen.

He preferred to imagine her filthy from the road and battle. That’s where she was comfortable. Where she was most beautiful.

But the real problem was, he could never be part of this world. He didn’t want to, and even if he did for her, he couldn’t. He would never be comfortable, never be accepted.

And what if it turned her into one of them… a prissy noble, scoffing at everything. Some old scratched up ring on a chain would hardly top any of the elaborate jewelry in the display then.

It’s not like it mattered, the paladin would likely find a way to tell her about his past tonight.

And he wouldn’t be there to stop it.

He looked back over to her as she discussed something with the shopkeeper.

Every second they spent in Solitude he felt like everything was hanging by a thread. Constantly worrying if his secrets were to be exposed or if she would be sucked in by the glamor of it all.

It would be unlike her to give into opulence, but what would either of them know? She never experienced anything like this… maybe lavish halls and a courtly tin-head were enough to convince her that roughing it in the wild was not as enticing as it once seemed.

Especially if she lost any interest in being with him.

…

When she saw her struggling to make a decision, the shopkeeper dragged her towards the back of the store and she only managed to throw Bishop a quick apologetic shrug.

They entered a large alcove and the shopkeeper pulled the thick lavish curtains to separate them from the rest of the store. There were several fancy white armchairs around, a washbasin and a large mirror with a stool in front of it.

“I have the perfect dress for you. Please disrobe while I fetch it.”

She flushed. Couldn’t she just take the dress and put it on at the inn or something?

She started to take off her clothes with a sigh, leaving only her underwear, covering her breasts with her arms in embarrassment, as she waited alone behind the curtain. She was _not_ used to shopping this way. Did the nobles do this all the time?

The shopkeeper returned a few minutes later with her hands completely full with some sacks, likely filled with clothing.

She looked her up and down appraisingly as Aeyrin blushed even more, uncomfortable under her scrutiny, still attempting to hide herself from that woman.

“Oh! Milady, we need to put some make-up on those ugly scars,” she frowned as her eyes rested on her left thigh.

“Wh-what? Why?” Aeyrin cringed.

“It’s unseemly to have any blemishes on your skin, milady!” the shopkeeper gasped incredulously, as if she was telling her a basic fact of life.

That sounded depressing. It wasn’t as if she was fond of her scars, but hiding them made her somewhat uncomfortable. She was used to them. They were part of her. A reminder of what she overcome. A reminder of what people were capable of, of what she was fighting against.

“B-but… no one’s gonna see my legs… right?” she stammered nervously.

The shopkeeper giggled suddenly, her face covered with a light blush, palpable even under all the make-up.

“Likely not, milady. But…” she leaned in conspiratorially before continuing in hushed whispers, “the women at the court often… debate whether the vows of the illustrious paladins are… absolute. If you managed to convince him to break his… well, you wouldn’t want him to be disappointed with you, would you?”

Aeyrin stared at her incredulously.

There was so much wrong with what she just said. First of all, making a sport out of a paladin’s vows was despicable. Not to mention that she would hardly wish to participate at this, especially since she had Bishop. And why was he supposed to mind her scars? Were they that awful? Bishop didn’t seem to mind. If he did find them off-putting, he would hardly have touched them, right? Besides, he had a lot of his own scars. And it was definitely not like him to stay quiet to spare her feelings on the matter… hopefully.

“I…” she had no idea how to answer any of that.

“I… don’t want them covered,” she said finally, deciding not to address the woman’s rendition of the noblewomen’s favorite pastime.

The shopkeeper frowned at her deeply, but didn’t comment. She was obviously disappointed with her new dress-up doll. She only motioned for her sternly to uncover herself with an expectant nod.

Aeyrin let her hands fall from her chest after a while, cringing from her gaze. The woman considered her for a bit before taking out a white bustier and motioning for her to turn around.

That was excessive. Couldn’t she just… put on the dress? And she could have dressed herself!

But… making a scene would not likely go over well and she may just embarrass Casavir. He seemed to be well known by the woman and she definitely didn’t want her gossiping over the paladin’s companion for the ball. The best thing to do was to pretend this was all normal to her. It was probably normal for other people… maybe those not raised in a temple.

Aeyrin sighed a bit at her impatient expression and turned around, letting the woman place the bustier around her torso and fasten it at the back.

After a while of fiddling with something, she pulled suddenly, hard, making Aeyrin gasp out in shock as her breath left her for a while, her chest compressed tightly under the garment, her breasts covered with it completely. The woman repeated the process three more times before fastening her inside tightly, making breathing somewhat difficult, her breasts squeezed painfully against her torso.

“Is… that necessary? It’s hard to breathe…” Aeyrin looked at her accusingly, but the woman only raised an admonishing finger at her.

“Of course it is necessary, milady. You must present an acceptable figure.”

Was her figure not ‘acceptable’? What did she mean? All this was starting to make her feel really insecure. Bishop never complained about anything about her. Would he just keep it to himself?

The woman handed her a new undergarment a while later, matching the white bustier. Luckily, she didn’t insist on dressing her that time, but she didn’t leave either, making the whole ordeal even more uncomfortable.

She should have just stayed at the inn with Bishop…

She was handed a pair of lightly white and transparent stockings a minute later. She put the thigh-high things on as the shopkeeper looked at the scars again disapprovingly, fiddling with the lace on top of the stockings to cover as much of them as possible.

Finally, the shopkeeper pulled out the dress.

It was a rose pink strapless ballgown. The skirt didn’t seem as large as she feared, but it wasn’t exactly flowy either. The fabric was soft and a little shiny, the skirt wrapped in a transparent layer of it, making it seem a bit ethereal. It had sparse tiny rubies on a silvery chain lined along the cleavage, the hem and the waist above the transparent cloth.

It was beautiful. And it really looked as if from another world… one she’s never been able to see before.

“It’s… amazing,” Aeyrin gasped, still mesmerized by the dress.

“Of course it is. Put your hands up,” the shopkeeper scoffed at her obvious statement, bundling the gown to dress her in it.

The whole process took a lot more time as the woman insisted on styling Aeyrin’s hair, manicuring her fingers, putting on make-up and rosy fragrance and adding some accessories and shoes. She even asked her to remove Bishop’s ring and the amulet of Stendarr from her neck, but Aeyrin adamantly refused. That was where she drew the line. Whatever beautiful jewel she had for her could never compare to those.

Finally it was done.

Aeyrin looked herself over in the large mirror. The dress hugged her tightened waist and breasts closely, the skirt making her hips look a bit wider, then flowing down seamlessly. She had a delicate silver chain around her left wrist, laced with three small rubies, her other hand decorated by a matching ring. Her earlobes had long earrings clasped to them, tiny red metal roses dangling at their ends. Some of her hair was braided and pulled back, creating a neat waterfall hairdo.

“Sir Casavir ordered this especially for you, milady,” the shopkeeper smirked as Aeyrin looked over herself, pulling out a familiar delicate headband with an enchanted moving red rose on it – the one she saw in the market when she met Casavir.

The woman placed the accessory in her hair carefully, the rose nestling above her right ear, the pleasant trickle of magic tickling her scalp.

It was all so beautiful.

Why did it make her so uncomfortable?

It wasn’t her.

But was this somehow… a preferable version of her? The shopkeeper seemed to thinks so. Would Bishop think so too?

…

It was taking forever!

They’ve been there for at least two hours now. It was gonna be sundown soon.

He was half-lying in a cushioned chair in the store, the glittering jewels around annoying him more and more.

How fucking long could putting on a dress take anyways? What was so complicated about it?

Finally he heard the scrape of pulled back curtain.

He stood up in annoyance, eager to get going already.

Then he saw her.

His face softened immediately. He wasn’t one for all this pomp and opulence, but she looked absolutely breathtaking. He’s only seen her in a dress twice before. Once with the whole ragged look after trudging through the sewers in fancy clothes – she looked so hot like that, he could barely control himself. The second one was too weirdly refined for her, and hid most of her figure with the bundling of the fabric.

This however… she really looked like a princess.

Her flushed face complemented the colors of the dress as she walked a bit waveringly on the high heels. She looked at him with trepidation, an uncertain expression on her face as his eyes roved over her.

“Wow… you look amazing…” he couldn’t stop staring at her.

It was somewhat infuriating that this was all for someone else than him. But with her looking like that… that tin-head will never be able to control himself. He’ll show who he really is soon enough.

His eyes roamed over every detail of her, noting with a pleased smile that she didn’t take off or hide either of the necklaces from him, before he looked back in her eyes.

She gave him a demure smile, but her eyes seemed sad somehow.

She walked over to him, lingering in front of the exit from the store as the shopkeeper returned to roam around disinterestedly.

“You really like it?” she looked up at him from behind her lashes, rubbing her hand over her other arm uncertainly.

“Fuck yeah… you sure I can’t steal you away back to bed, princess?” he chuckled at her, taking one strand of her neatly combed hair between his fingers and playing with it for a while.

She gave him a light shake of her head and a weak smile.

She really _did_ look sad.

“What’s wrong?” he furrowed his brows at her, but she only shook her head again, heading out of the store at last.

She was being strange.

Maybe what he worried about was already happening? Maybe she was realizing this role suited her better, she was just wary of telling him.

It was a stupid idea, he was overly paranoid, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. And he couldn’t think of any other reason for her mood.

And it certainly didn’t help that now she was about to spend the entire evening with Casavir, who would be trying to tell her about Bishop’s past the whole time.

Whatever was about to happen was gonna be bad.

He had to stop it somehow.


	64. Awkward Dances

“My lady, you look truly stunning.”

The paladin nodded at her politely and his eyes lingered on her for a long time.

He was wearing an elegant long doublet – light grey and decorated with white embroidery. The buttons in the front seemed to be made out of real pearls and there was a silver chain around his neck, a pendant with the Imperial Dragon symbol dangling just below his chest.

“Thank you. You look very nice too,” she smiled at him. It seemed somewhat strange how much money he must have invested in this event. Her clothes and accessories alone must have cost a fortune, as must have his. It was odd to see from a paladin – it seemed like an unnecessary excess.

“Thank you for all the… things. But you really shouldn’t have. Everything must have been so expensive,” she sighed slightly, looking up at him.

He didn’t seem fazed by all the opulence at all. Granted, she knew that paladins usually didn’t live in such austere conditions as the priests – they were after all often hailed as heroes for protecting civilians and given various rewards or gifts – however, she never expected something like this.

“It was no trouble, my lady. I am glad you found some items to your liking. Shall we?”

Casavir’s eyes fell briefly towards Bishop who hanged back a bit, his face oddly pensive. The paladin was likely eager to get away from him.

Aeyrin nodded at him, before turning back to Bishop to say goodbye. His face was still somewhat somber as he approached her. After a while, however, he smirked, expectedly making a show for Casavir. He leaned down to kiss her pointedly squeezing her around the waist for a brief moment.

She gave him an exasperated shake of her head after he was done, but he only smirked again in response.

“See you later, princess,” he mumbled in a low voice before turning on his heel and heading towards The Winking Skeever.

Casavir cleared his throat uncomfortably, offering his elbow to Aeyrin after a brief awkward moment.

She laced her arm through his, grateful that she would be somewhat supported on those heels.

…

They made their way towards the Blue Palace, only exchanging some polite small talk about the weather in the meantime.

She still couldn’t shake her anxiety about what went on in the store and about what the rest of the night would be like.

Bishop seemed positively enthralled when he saw her, but for some strange reason, it didn’t make her happy or flattered like it did before in the golden dress. It made her strangely sad. The shopkeeper got into her head. She couldn’t stop wondering if he thought the same thing about her, if this was somehow a preferable version of her. It didn’t feel right. She felt like she was someone else. She didn’t want him to like that person more. But for all the disdain he held for nobility and opulence, he always seemed fascinated with her more when she was pushed into this role.

Social events like these made her too jittery, she was much easier to fluster around them.

They finally arrived to the Palace gardens – the beautiful scene of flowers and decorative trees in the moonlight was disturbed by a crowd of people in fancy clothes, clamoring by a large door at the side of the Palace.

She noticed some of the people whispering to themselves as they made their way through the crowd. She pressed herself a bit closer to Casavir, the crowd making her even more nervous, since she could have sworn that more and more people eyed them with curiosity. It was the capitol – unlike Windhelm, an elf’s presence shouldn’t probably be so strange there, right? Unless everyone heard her description from the news from Dragon Bridge…

“Ah! Sir Casavir. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

A large Redguard man suddenly approached them, shaking the paladin’s hand after Aeyrin quickly unlaced herself from him.

“You too, Baron V’ircim. Let me introduce…” Casavir inclined his head politely, gesturing towards Aeyrin before he got interrupted by the man.

“There’s no need for introductions, my good man. Everyone has heard that you would be accompanied by the Dragonborn herself. It is a pleasure to meet you, dear,” the Redguard gave her a hearty grin, taking her hand courtly and ghosting a kiss above it.

“Umm… y-yes. You too,” she mumbled. What did he mean everyone heard? Did Casavir announce that she would be coming with him? And did that mean that everyone at the ball would really know who she was?

She didn’t listen to the rest of their conversation, as she was now _really_ convinced that everyone _was_ looking at her, whispering about her.

The Redguard finally left them and she turned her gaze towards Casavir immediately, her expression somewhat accusing.

“My lady?” he gave her an uncertain look.

“Casavir, what did he mean ‘everyone heard you’d be accompanied by the Dragonborn’?”

His face still looked rather confused at her question, as if this course of events was to be expected.

“My lady, it is customary to announce anyone accompanying a guest,” he explained, raising an eyebrow at her curiously.

“Well… couldn’t you just… give them my name… instead of…” she stammered uncomfortably, still all too aware of all the people looking at her.

“I don’t understand the issue, my lady.”

Aeyrin sighed in defeat, not eager to discuss her anxiety with him.

As the conversation trailed off awkwardly, Casavir approached a woman by the large door, announcing his arrival to the event. The doors were opened to them by a nearby guard and they entered the large hall.

Glittering opulence overwhelmed her senses when she saw the ballroom.

The hall was lavishly decorated, the marble floor tiles lined lightly with gold in the fissures between them, the gilded chandeliers with dangling crystals making the whole room dance with a myriad of colors. There were large flower arrangements everywhere, tables filled with veritable feasts and crowds of people everywhere, all dressed in the finest frocks and garments.

The ball put a whole new meaning to the word ‘fancy’.

“Sir Casavir, of the Order of the Imperial Dragon, accompanied by lady Dragonborn!”

A loud noise startled her as a man beside the entrance door yelled for all the hall to hear.

Casavir offered her his arm again and she clustered closer to him in a pathetic attempt to hide from the crowds.

Again, there were murmurs and whispers spreading through the hall, people looking them over curiously, some even pointing at them.

This was mortifying.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Casavir creased his brows worriedly, noticing her discomfort.

“I… I’m not used to this… I feel like everyone is staring at us…” she whispered weakly, clinging to his arm.

“Yes. You must excuse them, you create quite a commotion. The rumors of your deeds are told with great enthusiasm, people are eager to get to know the real thing,” he smiled. She could have sworn she even saw a hint of pride on his face.

‘The real thing’… right. As if this was really her…

…

Bishop entered The Winking Skeever, his thoughts refusing to settle.

She looked upset ever since she appeared in that dress. Something was wrong.

And there was no doubt that the fucking tin-head will try to tell her everything again! He insinuated it plenty of times already.

He hated this feeling so much.

Stupid Delphine! If only they didn’t need to spend so much time here, waiting for her suicidal plan to unfold. They could have just been enjoying themselves alone in the wilderness, adventuring and… other things.

Now everything was constantly in jeopardy.

He wouldn’t just lie down and take it though.

He needed to do something. He needed to fight for her.

And she _was_ acting strangely, he was just being concerned about her… that was a valid excuse, wasn’t it? He needed to check if she’s alright.

He turned on his heel promptly, leaving the tavern where he still lingered by the door.

His feet carried him determinedly towards the Blue Palace, the noise of the crowd in the garden making him groan in annoyance at what he was getting himself into.

“Ummm… who are you?”

A woman by the large door stopped him, looking him over with a disgusted expression.

“The fuck do you care? The tin-head invited me. Let me in,” Bishop folded his arms across his chest expectantly, his eyes darting briefly towards the guard standing nearby.

“Uhh… I don’t think so. We do not need a savage to entertain our guests. Leave, before I notify the guards,” the woman scowled at him fiercely.

Fucking nobles…

If he forced his way in, it would likely create more trouble than good. Also he would probably get arrested pretty soon. And he was _not_ going to start throwing the paladin’s name around, risking that he’d be notified.

He had to think of something else.

…

“Is it true you battled a dragon right in the middle of a city?”

A Nord in dark embroidered coat gaped at her in astonishment.

There was a small crowd of no less than seven people surrounding her and Casavir, all asking various questions and scrutinizing her.

Casavir was very polite through the entire thing, greeting them all courteously, answering all their questions dutifully. Aeyrin, on the other hand, stammered through conversations, overwhelmed by the attention, trying her best to steer the talk away from her as the Dragonborn.

Casavir proved to be surprisingly attentive, noticing when the questions got her too nervous and excusing them away from the crowd. But there were always more of them coming a minute later.

“I… uh… suppose… but I wasn’t alone… there were guards and citizens… and my companion to help me,” she tried to explain as briefly as possible.

“Will you Shout for us?” the Nord man’s wife exclaimed excitedly as even some of the people standing idly nearby turned their attention to her.

“What? No! That’s dangerous!” Aeyrin squirmed around Casavir’s arm, cringing away from the eager onlookers nervously.

“But _I_ heard there are some that are harmless. Surely you can show us those!” another man in the crowd insisted.

She shook her head vehemently, but all the people around still looked ready to insist until she finally relented.

She hated this feeling so much. The pet Dragonborn prodded for a reaction yet again…

“Apologies, my good sir. This is hardly an appropriate place for displays of battle prowess. It is _particularly_ tasteless in the halls of our High Queen, considering her late husband’s tragic fate,” Casavir threw the man a deep scowl, making the people in the crowd dip their heads somewhat in shame.

Aeyrin gave him a grateful smile as he continued, nudging their way away from the onlookers.

“If you will excuse us now, the lady and I have important matters to discuss.”

He led the two of them towards the corner of the room, pulling out a chair for her courteously at one of the small tables by the wall, which were at least a little hidden in the large hall.

“Hopefully we will be undisturbed here for a little while,” he gave her a kind smile as he sat himself at the other chair, facing her across the table.

“Thank you, Casavir,” she returned the smile with a bashful blush, looking around still a bit warily. She could see some people looking at them still, occasionally whispering to themselves. Luckily, no one made their way towards them.

“You were uncomfortable with the questions,” it was more of a statement than a question, but it was clear he wanted her to elaborate on her behavior. Gods, she was probably embarrassing him!

“Yes… I’m sorry, Casavir. I’m just not really good with crowds. And… I guess I’m still not used to the… Dragonborn thing,” she sighed. She wondered if she would ever get used to it. It just still seemed like… it wasn’t her. It was part of her, but… nobody cared about the other parts.

“Why are you apologizing, my lady?” Casavir raised a brow at her with a gentle quirk to his lips.

“I don’t know… I guess… you must have been expecting…. someone else,” she let out the last words almost silently.

He gave her a strangely compassionate look before speaking again, his head shaking in negation: “If I wanted to share the evening with anyone else, I would have invited _them_. Despite how it may appear, I did not wish to cause commotion. I came to enjoy these types of events. I only wished to share them with the lovely woman I met recently.”

She smiled back at him again. It was a rather sweet thing to say, regardless of how uncomfortable she was there.

“You really enjoy this? Isn’t it… exhausting?” she looked back towards the crowds, several people gathering in the center of the ballroom, starting to perform a strangely synchronized dance. How did they all know how to do that?

“At times, it is. But I had the pleasure of meeting the most fascinating people at events such as these. And if you distance yourself from the more… toxic aspects of their society, many of them are kind and generous souls.”

She gave him a bright smile and an eager nod. It was the exact reason she loved travelling when she left the chapel. She found herself having more and more in common with the paladin each minute. If only she could claim to be as composed and refined in this environment as he was.

“You are… uncomfortable with being the Dragonborn?” he asked after a while, studying her face with curiosity.

She nodded slowly, lowering her eyes. Everyone always considered it such an honor. At first she thought it a curse. Now she was worried it was something that threatened to devour her whole identity. Ever since she read Master Therien’s letter, she couldn’t get the thought out of her head.

“I just… you’ve been here a while, you probably know that my kind doesn’t get the warmest reception here. But now… I’m starting to feel like I preferred it before. At least I knew where I stood. Now everyone treats me differently, and… I feel like everyone expects some legendary hero… and they just get… _me_ ,” she sighed. It was so easy to confide in him. It reminded her of the guidance she received from the priests.

It wasn’t as if she never got recognized for the good she did, for helping against the dragons, but it always seemed like everyone wanted her to be… more. More impressive, mighty, proactive? Maybe they all just wanted a large Nord with large muscles to feel comfortable, not an elf who was afraid of dying after every dragon fight. She has never been insecure about her battle skills before she found out she was the Dragonborn.

“I understand that it may be disheartening. People are often callous when afraid and backed into a corner. But I assure you, my lady, you are so much more than anyone could have hoped for. No matter the mistrust or disinterest you may be met with, please know, that you are much more than what they want. Palpable strength and prowess are often more comforting at first sight, but never more important than kindness and compassion.”

She gave him another grateful smile. She could almost imagine being back at the chapel, at peace, listening to a kind priest, easing her thoughts.

Their conversation trailed off for a while, this time in a comfortable and amicable silence.

The music echoed through the halls pleasantly as more and more people crowded the center of the hall, dancing in a surprisingly orderly fashion. It was nothing like the drunken dances in taverns she witnessed so far.

She looked at the large tables filled with food. No one even seemed to come near them. As if it were unseemly to eat there. She was getting pretty hungry, but it seemed strange to be the only one eating. People _did_ clamor around the tables with drinks though.

“Would you like a drink, my lady?” Casavir asked, after noticing the direction of her gaze.

“Oh. No. That’s alright, Casavir, thank you.”

There were pitchers of water on every table and the answer was practically automatic around a paladin.

He chuckled softly at her, an amused expression on his face: “I know what you are doing, my lady. There is really no need for that. I am not so easily tempted.”

She blushed at his words, chuckling lightly alongside him, but cringed after a while, involuntarily remembering what Bishop assumed about him and how he was… prone to fall into temptation. She shouldn’t be thinking about _that_. Bishop’s suspicions were rather unfounded after all.

“It’s a habit, I suppose. I really don’t need a drink though, thank you,” she cursed herself a little for saying that. It would have perhaps made her less uncomfortable there, but then again, if she overdid it, she would definitely embarrass Casavir even more.

“Can I ask you something?” she piped up after a while of hesitating, eliciting a nod from him.

“All this… the feasts, parties, the clothes… isn’t it… against the vows?” she bit her lower lip nervously, not certain whether she wasn’t crossing the line with the insinuation. She was, however, kind of curious how seriously he took his vows, now that she started to think on Bishop’s words again.

Casavir sighed deeply, his brows creasing: “It is… somewhat problematic, I admit. I have struggled with this question myself after my vigil. The truth is, this has been the way of the church for ages now, but it is not as callous as it may appear. These events and the way the Orders present themselves, it garners a sort of… fascination from certain people. When we become part of their world, we have some measure of influence over them. Then we may work on suggesting that their fortunes are better spent on the congregations than more opulence. The congregation then assures that those funds are provided to the less fortunate. Sadly, this task proved much easier in Cyrodiil. With the war and the dragons… as I said, fear and war make people callous.”

Aeyrin nodded in understanding. It seemed reasonable. After all, if the paladins didn’t ‘infiltrate’ the nobility like this, they would probably just throw all the money into more parties and dresses. And Casavir seemed rather good at making the nobles squirm in shame, it _was_ pretty impressive. She’s heard that many of the paladins came from nobility themselves. It made sense – they already likely knew how to manipulate their own kind to the church’s benefit.

“I admit, my lady, I find myself regretful that you did not undergo a vigil. With questions like these… there is always need for people like you in our Order. I am sad to say that some do not treat their calling as mindfully,” he sighed, giving her a wistful smile.

“I don’t know… I don’t think I was cut out for that. My mentor feared that I would grow resentful, that I would wish for the things I swore off. Life in the chapel was… peaceful. I needed that at the time. But now… you called it a ‘calling’. It just… never ‘called’ to me,” she shrugged uncertainly. She debated this herself for a long time then, but in the end, Master Therien knew her better than she knew herself. When he spoke about traveling the world, meeting all the different people, seeking history in ancient ruins, she was very anxious, but… so excited. She would have regretted not taking this path, despite its hardships.

Surprisingly enough, Casavir scowled deeply at her response, staring into his goblet of water as if debating with himself whether to speak.

“I understand, my lady. However, I cannot help but be concerned, that you may be headed too far in the other direction… despite your good intentions.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. What did _that_ mean? But soon enough, the realization dawned on her – she only ever saw him wear that fierce scowl when he talked about Bishop.

“Casavir, please, I thought we were done with this! I assure you, I will not turn into a different person by simply associating with Bishop,” she shook her head at him admonishingly.

“He tends to get people into troubling situations, my lady. I fear you are in more danger than you realize. Even if he meant you personally no ill, which is in itself doubtful, he has a lot of enemies, and if someone from his past decided you are a better target for revenge than him, I don’t even want to think of the grim fate that would await you,” Casavir looked at her almost pleadingly. Was he talking about the Guild? Or was it something else? Did he even know about the Guild?

 _No! Stop it! Don’t pry, you gave Bishop the benefit of the doubt, don’t go back on it!_ She admonished herself determinedly. It was his past to share, not Casavir’s.

“You worry needlessly. I can take care of myself. Besides, I think I’ve actually gotten him in more trouble than he’s gotten me,” she giggled somewhat fondly, thinking on how much they’ve endured together. He would have definitely seen less dragons, if it weren’t for her.

“My lady, if you only listen, I am sure I can make you see…”

“No! Casavir, honestly, it is not yours to tell. And whoever he was, whatever he did… doesn’t he deserve a second chance?” she really needed to end this discussion quickly. Her resolve was wavering too much. She was so curious. But she hardly considered the paladin a credible source.

“He hasn’t changed! He is still the same callous, rude, _brigand_ he’s always been,” Casavir raised his voice suddenly, several people around peering at them curiously with the commotion.

The name calling was rather strange for a paladin, but he seemed to get really riled up about Bishop every time.

“How would _you_ know? Frankly, if I only knew _you_ from the interactions you two had together, I wouldn’t think much of you either,” she huffed in annoyance, folding her arms across her chest. “Now, please, drop the subject.”

Casavir sighed defeatedly, shaking his head sadly.

“I pray for your safety, my lady. I hope you see the truth on your own before it is too late.”

…

Fortunately, the tense mood softened after some time and the two of them returned to chatting pleasantly.

Aeyrin was really enjoying Casavir’s company, her mood elevated with the knowledge that she may have found another steadfast friend in Skyrim.

But to her dismay, the curious onlookers didn’t stay passive forever.

The occasional noble stopped by their table every once in a while and gradually, there was a crowd forming again. They moved to another part of the ballroom several times, but it no longer helped. And she felt rather guilty. Casavir, after all, enjoyed meeting these people, and he was too considerate of her to spend time with them. Eventually, when he suggested trying to find another quiet spot, she refused demurely, making sure he didn’t think the party wasted by shying away alongside her.

The conversation went on as Aeyrin joined in only when absolutely necessary, too preoccupied with analyzing the looks and whispers around her. Casavir kept glancing at her, likely too conscious of her discomfort to relax himself.

“My lady, may I have this dance?”

He gave her a somewhat cheeky smile, as if he figured out a sly way to avoid the crowd.

Oh no… there was hardly anything worse he could have asked.

And refusing would definitely humiliate him in front of all those people!

She nodded uncertainly, her face flushing in embarrassment. This was going to end badly.

“Cas-Casavir… I can’t dance…” she whispered to him as they left the crowd, heading towards the center of the room.

He chuckled lightly at her, giving her a fond smile: “My lady, there’s really nothing to worry about, just follow my lead.”

It wasn’t that simple. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Dancing was simply too… coordinated and delicate. Even in battle, she usually just charged in, improvising without much attention to where she was stepping. She was agile, sure, but dancing simply required a finesse she lacked. Maybe it was also because she was mocked for her dancing whenever she attempted it, even back at the temple, when they were having fun with other initiates. She was self-conscious about it ever since.

Casavir positioned them on the dancefloor, standing in front of her; he took her left hand in his and placed his own on her back gently. They were rather close to each other, her face almost buried in his… chest. He was so much taller than her even with the heels, it must have looked comical.

Casavir attempted to lower his frame a bit with a smile as he started to lead her through the dance.

He moved just like the other dancers. It was so impressive. How did everyone know this and was able to move the same?

She, however…

“Oh! S-sorry,” she stammered as she stepped on his foot… hard. Casavir only gave her a kind smile, ignoring her blunder.

He swirled her around, holding her hand above her head, nudging her into a twirl.

What? What was she supposed to do?!

Her elbow ended up twisted strangely, forcing her to pull her hand away from him with a fierce blush.

Everyone was staring at her! She heard giggles and mocking outbursts all through the ballroom.

Casavir only smiled after every mistake she made, adamantly sticking to the dance as if nothing happened.

She even managed to drive her high heel into his foot once and eventually she ended up colliding roughly against his chest.

That was it.

She was definitely embarrassing him more like this than by stammering through conversations awkwardly. She could even make out what the onlookers were saying – making jokes, snickering that they hoped she was more capable in battle than on the dancefloor.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Casavir. I can’t…” she disentangled herself from him abruptly heading towards the side of the room swiftly. She awkwardly wobbled on her heels once, as if to drive the point through.

_Ugh. Yes, I get it, I’m graceless._

Casavir followed her swiftly, brushing away some sycophants who attempted to stop him, wanting to talk about his partner’s laughable performance.

“My lady, please, don’t mind the people! Like I’ve said, you have to distance yourself from such behavior. It is sadly tied to these events, but the best course of action is to ignore it,” he gave her an encouraging smile, laying his hand on her upper arm reassuringly.

“I… wish I could. I’m sorry… I just feel like… you must have worked hard to fit in here... I feel like I’m just ruining your evening… and reputation,” she sighed sadly, still blushing in embarrassment.

“Not at all. You know I enjoy your company, and I am hardly concerned with those who would spend their nights spitting venom at someone. I’m sorry I made you so…” he trailed off suddenly, his kind smile twisting in a deep scowl as he looked past her towards the large stairwell by the entrance.

There was only ever one reason for that contemptful frown.


	65. The Life of the Party

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Bishop growled at the wolf by his feet, eliciting a questioning whine from him.

“It’s a necessary evil, alright?” he gestured defensively, heading back towards the Blue Palace.

Karnwyr sniffed curiously at the top of the black boot where the irritatingly soft trousers met the leather.

“Yeah, I get it, it’s weird. Now scram, you’ll blow my cover,” he scratched the wolf behind his ear briefly, waiting for him to leave him in front of the viaduct leading to the Palace gardens.

The crowd has diminished there considerably, but there was still that woman with her guard by the door.

He needed to get past them.

Fuck, the clothes were weirdly itchy... and too tight.

Although, it _was_ pretty funny that the pompous fops had to wear this shit all the time. He was sure that the tailors made it uncomfortable on purpose, just to spite the nobles.

He set out, sneaking along the dark stone wall towards the Palace’s main entrance. It was time for action. Luckily he came prepared. Gulum-Ei’s stuff was expensive, but always reliable.

He crept right by the entrance to the Palace, a safe distance from the small crowd by the side doors. He pulled out the contraption from the pocket of the long black doublet, looking it over once again. Who even thought to invent stuff like this? But somehow, it was perfect for what he needed.

He looked around, spotting a large ceramic vase with some flowers by the wall. He threw the plants away, placing the oil lamp inside the vase, careful not to make a noise, the string attached to it dangling from over the edge of the pot. He traced it along the wall, making sure any view of it was obstructed by the surrounding viaducts. He crouched down and took out the flint from his pocket.

This was gonna be kinda fun.

As soon as he saw the first spark ignite the oil-soaked string, he quietly crept back towards the side entrance to the ballroom, waiting for his moment to come.

It didn’t even take a minute.

A loud noise, shattering pottery and the sound of an oil explosion echoed through the gardens as everyone turned their heads towards the Palace entrance in shock, the guard predictably rushing towards the scene of the commotion.

Everyone clamored closer to see what happened.

This was his chance.

He rushed towards the ballroom doors, slipping in as silently as possible.

“Sir… !” a man by the door started announcing, before stopping abruptly, looking Bishop over with an uncertain expression. “Who are you?” he asked after a while of hesitating.

“The fuck do you care?” Bishop scoffed at him, walking away from the man immediately, scanning the ballroom for any signs of her.

He scoured the top floor, looking over the nobles there. He _did_ hear them whisper something about her occasionally, but he was moving fast and never really caught what they were saying – only the mention of ‘the Dragonborn’.

She wasn’t there.

He headed down the stairs, finally spotting the pink dress through the crowd.

She was standing by the wall with Casavir.

It looked like… he was comforting her.

Fuck. What did that mean? Did he tell her?

Suddenly his legs felt heavy.

This was a bad idea. Then again, if she knew, it would be just as bad when she returned. _If_ she returned.

Fuck, he was paranoid. Their stay in Solitude was so grating to him, the moments they spent completely alone were the only time he could relax.

But what other reason would there be? She’s been acting strange before too. Maybe she already decided she wanted to know the truth, despite her assurances to wait for Bishop to tell her himself.

But it _wasn’t_ the truth! Whatever version the paladin wanted to feed her, it was definitely worse than the truth.

His feet carried him forward reluctantly until the paladin noticed him, scowl appearing on his face immediately.

…

She turned around with curiosity, a doubtful expression on her face as she thought of what his scowl could mean.

“Bishop?!”

It’s not that it didn’t cross her mind when she saw Casavir’s frown, but it was still so shocking to see him there.

And _what_ was he wearing?!

Did he actually buy fancy clothes? They were almost all black, of course, with only some white embroidery on the sides of the neckline and the signs of white undershirt. He _did_ look kind of good in them though, his rugged looks creating a strangely alluring contrast to the neat garment.

She gave him a half-shocked and half-amused smile.

Something like relief seemed to flash across his face, before it was replaced by the familiar smug smirk.

“You don’t mind if I cut in, do you sweetness?”

Casavir suddenly seemed somehow even taller than before, straightening his shoulders exaggeratedly, placing himself right in front of Bishop. “What are you doing here?!” he growled at him from behind gritted teeth furiously.

“I’m here to rescue a flustered paladin from temptation,” Bishop smirked mockingly, his eyes darting to Aeyrin who gave him an admonishing look in turn.

“What _are_ you doing here? And your clothes…” she looked him over again. It made her feel somewhat better about her previous insecurity back at the store. It definitely didn’t look like _him_ either _._ But there was something strangely attractive about him in that get-up.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me, princess. They got prissy with me at the entrance, stupid nobles…” Bishop grumbled in annoyance, rolling his eyes.

“They don’t allow _your kind_ in,” Casavir growled again, his scowl deepening, as if it were even possible.

“Aww… but you invited me, tin-head,” Bishop chuckled at him maliciously.

There was a crowd forming around them again, the people trying to seem casual and inconspicuous. Apparently the men’s tense stance and occasional raised voice attracted attention from the curious nobles.

“Alright, that’s enough, you two,” Aeyrin forced herself between the two men, trying to diffuse the situation, her back to Bishop, her arms gesturing soothingly at the fuming paladin. Now he must have definitely been regretting inviting her.

She felt Bishop’s arm snake around her waist before he yanked her back onto his chest, another smirk escaping his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve had about enough too. Let’s go have some fun at this thing, ladyship.”

As if there was any fun to be had in this uncomfortable scrutiny…

“Keep your hands off her!” Casavir yelled at him suddenly, eliciting a surprised expression from Aeyrin and excited gasps from some of the onlookers.

He was taking this whole protectiveness from Bishop a bit too far. It’s not as if she wouldn’t be able to defend herself if she minded him touching her. It was really awkward in front of all the people though.

“You think you impress her with defending her honor or some shit like that?” Bishop laughed at him again, pointedly squeezing her closer to him.

Alright, now both of them were acting like idiots.

“I told you to unhand her!” Casavir clenched his fists angrily before Aeyrin interfered again.

“Enough already!” she untangled herself from Bishop’s clutch. “Casavir, thank you, but I _really_ don’t need you to defend me. And _you_ …” she punched Bishop in the chest firmly, “stop being an ass!”

Bishop chuckled at her lightly as Casavir tried to compose himself, the crowd around whispering with interest.

“I’ll go get a drink,” Bishop just shrugged, turning on his heel and stopping at the table nearby, looking over the selection.

Aeyrin turned over to Casavir, her eyes darting towards the curious nobles around them occasionally.

“I’m so sorry about the scene, Casavir,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“It’s not _your_ fault, my lady. And as I’ve said before, the people’s stares hardly concern me. I am more concerned about what that scoundrel’s doing here,” he furrowed his brows again, watching Bishop over her shoulder warily.

She knew Bishop was insecure about her spending time with Casavir. It was no wonder, after what happened between them. She never thought he would go this far to interfere, however.

Why was it even kind of endearing? Maybe because she could now see the uncertainty behind those smug smirks and taunts.

Besides, it was kind of perfect this way – Casavir could enjoy the party without having to worry about her discomfort, and Bishop’s attitude would definitely keep the crowds away.

“I think he’s just here to see me, there’s really no need to worry about him,” she gave the paladin a reassuring smile as he only sighed in response.

“It is somewhat admirable that you can see the good even in someone like him. I hope you don’t come to regret it, my lady.”

She shook her head at him wryly. His suspicions were starting to get a bit tiresome.

“I should probably go talk to him. At least you can enjoy the company without having to worry about me for a while,” she smiled at him demurely. He nodded, but his brows were still furrowed, his eyes darting towards Bishop every now and then.

She made her way towards him by the table with the drinks.

“Here. Found you some spiced wine,” he nodded at her, handing her a goblet.

Well… whatever. She needed to relax already and it was not as if she could cause even more commotion… right? She took the goblet from him, sipping at the wine before she eyed him admonishingly: “Bishop, what _are_ you doing here?”

“I was getting bored. Why do _you_ get to have all the fun?” he smirked, grabbing a goblet of some unidentifiable liquid and taking a deep swig.

If it weren’t for her private conversation with Casavir, this could hardly be considered ‘fun’. But she knew that wasn’t the reason he came.

“Bishop, you know I’m not listening to his opinions of you,” she gently took his hand in hers, stroking her thumb over the back of it reassuringly.

He frowned for a while, looking at their joined hands, before giving her a small smile. He looked back into her eyes, the crease between his brows returning: “You looked upset when you left…”

“Oh… I… it’s nothing. It was stupid,” she flushed in embarrassment at letting the shopkeeper’s words get to her.

He smiled a little uncertainly, as if wondering whether he should say what he wanted to say.

What the fuck, she already saw through him once, he might as well go all out.

“I thought you might have gotten caught up in your new role. Who’d want to go sleep in the cold and dirt and covered in blood after all this?” he gestured around the gilded halls.

“Are you kidding?! I would! This place is…” her eyes darted around nervously, looking over the people around the dancefloor. Some seemed to be even pointing at them.

Bishop raised his brow at her embarrassed blush as she scanned her surroundings. He didn’t really pay attention to anyone else when he finally found her among the crowds, he didn’t even realize they were being watched. Well, not like he cared what the pompous fops thought, and it was even pretty amusing to outrage them.

“Well, unless you plan on making this a regular thing, you really don’t need to care. You’re never gonna see these people again,” he shrugged, draping his arm across her waist and pulling her closer to him, in a comforting half-hug.

“They all know who I am… I feel like everyone’s just so disappointed with ‘the Dragonborn’. And… I’ve been embarrassing Casavir…” she muttered, biting her lip nervously.

“Really?” Bishop chuckled, there was a hint of unbridled joy in his eyes. He really liked it when the paladin got wound up. “Stop worrying about it. Believe me, they’ll find another scandal in five minutes. Nobody cares about these vultures. And the tin-head could use some humbling,” he laughed again, looking over at the paladin, discussing something somberly with a crowd of people.

“Now, what’s good here?” he turned his attention to the large banquet table, filled with fancy dishes and desserts.

“I haven’t seen a single person even near those tables. I’m starting to think they suspect that the food is poisoned,” Aeyrin gave him a tentative look, eyeing the food for a while. She was starving already, but it seemed so strange that no one else was eating anything. Was it not proper enough to eat at a party? Someone should have told her she was supposed to eat beforehand. Then again, the tight bustier might have squeezed the food right out of her.

“I’ll risk it. Come on, you can’t let all this go to waste! That’s against your religion,” he laughed cheekily, dragging her with him towards the table.

Bishop started to stuff his face immediately, picking into every serving, as if trying to taste everything as quickly as possible. Aeyrin looked around almost subconsciously now, checking the surrounding crowds again. It almost became a habit.

“Here. You’ll like this,” he practically shoved a small dessert at her face, making her open her mouth instinctively. He stopped at that, watching her with a pleased smirk as he slowed the pace, laying something on her tongue gently, his hand lingering after she closed her mouth, his thumb strumming briefly over her lower lip.

The sweet taste assaulted her senses, a strangely sour sting following it. Her brows shot up as the small dessert melted on her tongue swiftly, the pleasant taste spreading through her mouth. “Gods, that’s good! Why is no one eating this?!”

“Who cares? More for us!” Bishop chuckled again as she joined his feast tentatively. She really was starving, and it _would_ be a shame to let the food go to waste.

…

As the evening went on, Bishop kept adamantly distracting Aeyrin from the gossiping nobles, making it obvious that he didn’t give two shits about any of them.

Some of the nobles even approached them again with curious questions, but despite Aeyrin’s attempts to remain polite, Bishop enjoyed openly mocking them or telling them to leave in the rudest ways possible.

However, with the gradually increasing intake of spiced wine, she found herself caring less and less, even finding him amusing.

It was getting somewhat late and half of the guest seemed to be gone already.

They sat at the small table which she previously shared with Casavir, empty goblets and plates splattered around, while everyone else’s table stayed neatly clean.

Casavir was still mingling. He did approach her a few times with a worried expression, asking her if she was really alright. It was a little annoying. But he did seem more comfortable without her around when he wasn’t watching Bishop hatefully.

“Your tits look smaller in this…” Bishop grumbled suddenly, making her almost sputter the sip of wine she just took. “I don’t like it…” he smirked, eyeing her cleavage pointedly as she turned beet red.

“Y-yeah… well… the woman made me wear a… thing,” she stuttered, turning her torso a bit to the side as if to escape his gaze.

“A ‘thing’?” he raised his brows at her with curiosity, now studying her breasts even more blatantly.

“She said my figure wasn’t presentable enough…” Aeyrin pouted, now too inebriated to care how silly her insecurities were.

“Yeah right! The wench was probably just spiteful. Or she worried that the tin-head’s eyes would pop out of their sockets if you kept _your_ figure in that dress,” Bishop laughed merrily, giving her a sly wink.

She blushed even further, but couldn’t help but smile.

He leaned over the table, his voice lower as he almost groaned in her ear: “I for one can’t wait to rip that ‘thing’ off of you…”

Her face was burning as she looked him over with equal interest. He really did look good in that outfit. It was simpler than Casavir’s and less decorated, but she liked that better. Maybe because he went through the trouble of getting it to be with her, to prevent losing her, however unfounded his fears were.

“Come on, let’s dance,” he gave her a wink, extending his arm to her.

“Wh-what? I can’t dance! And… do _you_ know how to dance?” she gave him a dubious look and inclined her head towards the synchronized dancers in the center of the room.

“No,” he laughed, but didn’t wait any longer, grabbing her hand as he stood up, pulling her off her chair and twirling her into a close embrace, his other hand snaking around her waist.

They didn’t move towards the dancefloor, but stayed by their table as Bishop led her through a strange, clearly improvised dance, twirling her around, pressing her close to him and swaying regardless of the rhythm. Keeping up was decidedly easier when she wasn’t worried about being too uncoordinated. She still stomped on his foot a few times though, and occasionally crashed into their table when her head spun from the twirling.

“Ow. Fuck. Is that a revenge for something? Because I’m sure we can come up with better forms of punishment,” he laughed as her heel dug into his boot. It made her way more at ease than Casavir’s constant insistence that she was an acceptable dance partner.

Bishop spun her around again, ending up pinning her back to his chest, still swaying as his hand roamed around her compressed stomach, his other one on her flank, stroking up and down methodically. She arched back, laying her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes. This way she could pretend they were anywhere else… alone. She felt his tongue brush over the edge of her pointed ear teasingly before his mouth moved to the side of her neck, kissing her there languidly.

She let out a pleased sigh when she felt him nip gently, tightening her grip on her.

“Ehm…” an uncomfortable cough made her eyes snap open.

“Get lost, she’s mine,” Bishop growled, half-muffled by her skin under his lips.

She tore herself away from him with a fierce blush, giving Casavir an embarrassed look, tightening her lips into a thin line. She got so lost in his touch, she almost forgot where they were. And how inappropriate this likely was…

“Apologies, my lady,” the paladin threw Bishop a brief contemptful glare again before he turned his gaze back to her. “I am afraid that a messenger just appeared, calling me back to Castle Dour.”

“Oh. Is everything alright?

“I am uncertain of the nature of the problem… and with my contingent still gone, I will need to take care of things myself. That is not your concern, however, I merely wished to thank you for a lovely evening,” he bowed to her with a kind smile.

Spending time with him _was_ pleasant, but she would have much preferred it somewhere where she didn’t need to worry about her demeanor all the time.

“Thank you for a lovely evening as well, Casavir. And… I’m sorry for… well… everything,” she flushed again, looking down at the floor, avoiding his gaze.

“My lady, please, there is really no need for apologies. I had a wonderful time talking with you. And I hope it was not for the last time,” he nodded with a gentle expression on his face, taking her hand courtly and ghosting a kiss at the back of it.

“I hope so too. Maybe we’ll see each other soon again.”

Bishop rolled his eyes as the paladin started to make some rounds, saying goodbye to other people.

“How about we get out of here too?” he draped his arm back around her, pulling her closer with a suggestive wink. A second later something caught his attention behind her as he narrowed his eyes in contemplation, eventually throwing her a conspiratorial look.

“But first… we really need to smuggle out some of this food.”


	66. Afterparty

_ Author’s Note: _

_Bonus chapter!_

_So… fair warning, this chapter is practically all smut :D Horrible, cheesy, self-indulgent, awkward smut, for which I’m sorry in advance :D If you’re not interested in that, you can skip the chapter entirely. If you don’t want to miss any dialogue and introspection at all, skip to the last section._

_Otherwise, enjoy I guess :D_

* * *

“Hey! What’s that?”

One of the maids walking around the half-empty ballroom stopped them, pointing to the table cloth rolled up into a sack in Bishop’s hand.

“Clean up service,” Bishop smirked, as Aeyrin hid behind him, giggling quietly.

The maid gave him an uncertain look but he pointedly ignored her, dragging both the makeshift sack and the blushing Bosmer along with him towards the exit.

They both burst into laughter once the cold night air greeted them, heading through the Palace viaducts.

It was all so quiet, even the sounds of stragglers in the gardens were getting drowned out soon by the nocturnal chirping in the abandoned streets.

Bishop threw the tablecloth over his shoulder, the clattering and clanking of bottles disturbing the serene calm briefly.

As they walked by the first mansion near the Palace, he immediately lunged at her, pinning her to the cold stone wall of the adjacent garden, making her stumble backwards, his lips capturing hers in an insistent rough kiss.

She moaned under his lips, now uncertain whether her face was burning up from the alcohol or the arousal. Her hands folded against his chest, grabbing at the hems of his doublet and dragging him even closer to her, if that were even possible.

Distant giggling echoed from behind him as more of the guests made their way from the palace.

He growled in annoyance and tore himself away from her. Her face was still flushed, her breathing ragged and eyes glassy from inebriation.

He took her by the hand, his other one still supporting the makeshift pack as he ran with her along the stone wall right into the manor’s garden. He threw the sack among some flowerbeds unceremoniously, the clattering ringing through the quiet alcove.

“What are we doing here?” she chuckled briefly, looking over to the manor behind them. There was no light in the windows – the owners were probably either away or asleep.

“We’re here for the afterparty,” Bishop smirked, putting his arms around her and pressing her to him in a tight embrace, his lips descending back on hers.

In a matter of seconds she was being pressed back against one of the walls again, their shapes covered in the dark shadows of the topiaries around.

Bishop grabbed hold of each of her wrists in his hands, moving her arms above her head as she arched her back, pressing her torso firmly against his chest. She bit down on his lower lip in excitement, then moving her kisses along his stubbly jaw, down to his neck. She kissed the side of his throat, her tongue flicking over his skin, his fast heartbeat palpable under her lips.

He moved one of his legs between hers, pressing the fabric of her skirt, his strong thigh pushing against the apex of her legs. She felt the wetness soaking her undergarment as he rubbed his leg against the cloth, his own excitement discernable under the soft fabrics, pressing against the side of her belly.

The arms he trapped moved to be only held up by one of his hands, her slender wrists fitting into his tight grip. His other hand moved to her chest quickly, but with the bustier in the way, he found no good way to claim his prize, groaning with frustration against her ear.

Instead, he moved his hand lower, steadily bundling the cloth, baring her legs gradually.

“Ahh… h-here?” she yelped out as the cold air assaulted her extremities, the skirt traveling up her thighs.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he let out a low growl, letting go of her hands as they fell to his neck, tangling in the soft hairs at its nape.

She tried to concentrate on rational thoughts. They were hidden, but surely someone could hear! The road was just there, behind the tall stone wall. But her resolve was long gone, his insistent hand erasing any hesitation with every other passing second.

He used one hand to hold the dress at her waist, the cold sending shivers over her spine as it brushed against her wet underwear. His other hand dropped to her crotch immediately, rubbing the soft white laced fabric into her slit.

She let out a strained moan when his fingers moved lower towards her entrance, pressing in slightly, stretching the cloth. He took her hand in his, guiding her to hold her dress up. Then he laced his fingers under her panties, pulling them down in one swift motion. She stepped out of them with a slight wobble, her legs feeling weak. He picked the garment from the ground, stashing it in the pocket of his doublet, then one of his hands moved back to tease her between her legs, the other fumbling with the lacing of his trousers.

She joined her free hand with his, helping him along, soon enough enclosing it around his hard cock.

He dipped his head against her neck, groaning when her hand squeezed him in her grip, moving up and down his length a few times.

“Enough teasing, sweetheart. I need you,” he whispered against her skin, wrapping his hands under her backside, lifting her up along the cold stone wall. She draped her arms behind his neck again, the fabric of her dress now held up by her thighs, which enfolded around his waist, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance enticingly.

She quickly moved one of her hands over her mouth, muffling the loud gasp escaping her when he entered her with one powerful hard thrust. He groaned deeply at the contact, her walls clenching him inside tightly.

His mouth started to bite into her neck and shoulder hungrily as he began to thrust against her with strained hard movements, her hand still adamantly muffling the loud gasps and moans. Her weight was pressing him deeper and deeper inside her, the wall and his large body her only support, her wetness squeezing him inside with every movement, quivers coursing through her whole body.

“Fuck… that’s so good, don’t stop…” he groaned against her shoulder, her walls tightening around him instinctively each time.

She felt him starting to hit against that sweet spot inside her with every thrust, his movements turning even harder and faster as jolts of pleasure shot through her core. His fingers dug into the skin of her upper thighs firmly, nails pinching into her flesh.

She couldn’t hold out any longer, the sensations overwhelming her, the only sound in her ears were her muffled groans, his pleasured grunts and the sound of their bodies making contact. The next thrust left her reeling, the hand on her mouth barely able to contain the series of inarticulate moans she let out as burning heat spread through her whole body.

Her tightness clenched him even more firmly, the pulsating of her walls drawing him in, trapping his throbbing cock inside her.

His thrusts became shallow, but faster, his cock twitching, on the brink of explosion.

A few seconds later she felt the warmth flood her insides, spreading through her pleasantly as the rough thrusting left her on the edge once more. He went for a few more thrusts, sending her into another spasm before they both let out a strained satisfied gasp.

His knees were growing weaker, unable to hold up her weight anymore, he let her down on her wobbly feet slowly, her skirt sliding over her legs. She felt some of the fluids escape her, trailing down her inner thighs, but he seemed unconcerned with returning her undergarments to her, untangling himself from their embrace instead and pressing his back to the wall right next to her.

The sweat on her body made the cool night air feel even colder and she pushed herself from the wall, eager to leave the freezing stone. Her feet were hopelessly wobbly, so without a better idea, she bent down to undo the thin straps of her high heels, eventually leaving her feet only protected by the soft stockings. Bishop didn’t miss the opportunity to grope at her backside as it was tantalizingly displayed to him in that moment.

“We should go. I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured low in his throat, his hand never leaving her ass even when she straightened out, ushering her away from the garden.

At the last moment he remembered their hard-won loot and grabbed the makeshift pack, slumping it over his shoulder.

…

“Well don’t you two look fancy… and ruffled. That’s how you know it was a good party,” Corpulus chuckled as they entered The Winking Skeever.

“You bet!” Bishop laughed, mussing up Aeyrin’s hair affectionately when she giggled at the innkeeper.

“Drinks? Late dinner?” Corpulus, nodded at them, cleaning some tankards in the meantime.

“Nope. Got our own haul,” Bishop smirked, presenting the wrapped tablecloth to the innkeeper proudly.

Corpulus raised his brow at him in curiosity, but Bishop didn’t elaborate, instead they made their way towards their room to continue the afterparty.

As they entered the room, Bishop threw the sack on the ground unceremoniously, grabbing her in his embrace hurriedly again.

She threw the shoes she’s been carrying away, draping her arms behind his neck and kissing him deeply. He started to paw at her at once, again trying to feel up her chest through her dress. He groaned in frustration again, pushing her away from him briefly and twirling her around, her back to him.

“Fuck, we need to get rid of that ‘thing’,” he chuckled, “hiding your tits is like a crime of nature.”

She laughed, blushing deep red. How did he do it? Making her feel better with just a silly remark like that.

Bishop started to untangle the lacings of her dress, getting somewhat frustrated at times, yanking at the strings. Finally the clothes fell to the ground smoothly, baring her compressed torso, her stockings, filthy on their soles from the road and her bare backside.

Bishop stopped suddenly and instead of continuing to remove her clothes he looked her over, drinking in the sight in front of him.

She felt his fingers brush against the hem of her left stocking on the back of her upper thigh. There was a strange tension, her breath caught in her throat, bated as his fingers brushed over the lace of one leg, then moving towards another. She felt strangely scrutinized, not being able to see what he was doing, where he was looking, but it made her even more excited for some reason.

His fingers moved upwards, gently brushing over her asscheek, then continuing further, tugging lightly on the tight bustier, playing with the fastenings. She felt a slight relief on her compressed chest as he undid the neat bow at the back, but he stopped there.

She felt him move closer to her, his body only a hair’s breadth away, his breath tickling her ear.

“You want me to release you, princess?” he asked in a low voice, his fingers still playing with the bustier.

“Yes…” she gasped, the anticipation giving her goosebumps all over her body.

He placed his hands on her flanks and nudged her forward, guiding her towards the desk at the side of the room. She found herself pressed against the table, her underbelly leaning on the hard edge as he pushed on her back lightly, making her bend over, her arms quickly folding under her, supporting her on the wood of the desk.

“H-how are you gonna release me like this?” her voice trembled as she willed herself not to look back. It was so much more exciting when she didn’t know what he was about to do to her.

“Like this…” he chuckled in a husky voice, then she heard a movement and suddenly a warm breath on her backside, hands gripping her inner thighs, yanking them apart.

His tongue entered her wetness immediately, making her gasp in surprise. She remembered she was still somewhat dirty from their previous escapade, and this angle really left little of her to the imagination, but he didn’t really seem to mind any of that as his hand joined his exploration, his fingers, teasing her clit, sometimes entering her when his mouth moved to nip at her skin. His other hand kneaded and massaged her flesh continuously, making her whole body shiver under him.

It really didn’t take long, the previous anticipation getting her more than ready for a fast release. She cried out loudly as he sucked on her nub eagerly, her walls convulsing around his two fingers when he thrusted them inside again only a second later.

He continued the treatment for a while yet, enjoying her helpless mewls and writhing under his ministrations.

She bucked against him in another flood of pleasure, letting out a low breathy moan.

He stopped the teasing then, letting her slump against the table weakly as he straightened himself up, his hands returning to the bustier.

He fiddled with the fastenings, but they seemed like an elaborate puzzle. She was half-lying on the table, still trying to collect herself, her breathing heavy, her cheeks burning red. He yanked hard on the fastenings suddenly, making her whole body jerk, a high-pitched gasp escaping her as she straightened her back, moving herself up from the cold wood, supporting her weight with her hands.

He tried again, yanking her once more, harder, then again and again. Her head was starting to spin, every movement tightening the bustier around her even more, pressing against her breasts and ribs painfully, her breath, still heavy after her release, now too difficult to get under control.

“Ah… Bish… s-stop,” she gasped out, making him realize himself.

“Sorry, sweetness,” he grumbled in frustration and let go of her garment, moving away from the table. She finally tried to get her breathing under control, although the bustier was still so uncomfortably tight around her.

The room was filled only with the sounds on her heavy breaths and Bishop’s rummaging through his pack. What was he doing? She still convinced herself to keep her eyes straight ahead, letting the anticipation build up again.

She felt him approach her again in a little while, then something lithe and hard pressed against her back.

The sound of snapping strings filled the room as the hard edge moved over her spine, the bustier loosening around her, making her sigh out in relief.

Did he just cut the strings?

He seemed unsatisfied with the results though.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled and she felt his fingers study the garment still wrapped around her body, but now mercifully not compressing her anymore.

“Don’t move,” he said in an annoyed tone.

She felt the sharp edge of his hunting knife press against her skin gently, her breath catching in her throat as it slipped below the garment.

He pulled the blade away, pulling the cloth further from her body, making sure that the cold metal edge didn’t touch her skin anymore.

Then in one swift rip, the bustier fell off her onto the wooden desk, the sound of his knife clattering on the ground echoing through the room.

“Finally. Now you’re all mine again,” he chuckled, embracing her from behind, his hands on her breasts immediately, kneading and massaging them eagerly.

She turned around after a while, looking at him ponderingly.

“Why do you like ruining my clothes so much?” she poked a finger at his chest teasingly as his hands returned back to her breasts, brushing across the imprints left by the bustier.

“Because you look better without them. You just keep insisting on wearing them. What else am I supposed to do?” he laughed, running his fingers across the two necklaces dangling on her chest.

“Well… you look better without them too…” she gave him a mischievous smile, inclining her head towards his new fancy clothes.

“Fuck no! I paid _my_ money for that! And who knows when you get another brilliant idea to go somewhere we need to dress up. You can ruin my regular clothes later. Just take these off,” he scowled at her, shaking his head adamantly.

She pouted a little, curious what the fascination with ruining clothes was, but then again, he had a point. And it wasn’t as if she was planning to wear that chest-prison ever again.

She moved her hands to the single string fastening the doublet together, pulling on it. The folds uncovered the white shirt underneath and she draped the doublet over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, his mouth nipping at her ear in the meantime.

She interrupted him for a bit, dragging the shirt over his head and throwing it somewhere unceremoniously. She wanted to enjoy undressing him, but found herself a bit overeager to slow her pace as his hands tangled in her hair, messing up her hairdo even more than before, his mouth moving down to her collarbone.

Before he could continue exploring her she pushed him away so that he wasn’t pressing her against the table anymore. She needed more room to maneuver.

He watched her intently as she dropped to her knees, his hands still clutched in her hair. She untangled the fastenings of his boots quickly and he helped her eagerly by kicking them off of himself.

She moved her hands towards his groin, her face flushed, her fingers brushing against him teasingly before she started to undo the fastenings. She pulled his trousers down swiftly, her eyes locked on him in front of her face. He stepped out of the clothes, kicking them unceremoniously away as he kept watching her with hungry eyes, his hands gripping at her hair in insistence.

She looked up at him shyly, one of her hands moving to his length as she filled her mouth with the tip of him almost immediately, her tongue swirling around, tasting him.

He let out a loud groan at the sensation. She was surprisingly eager to take initiative, but he wasn’t really complaining. Her tongue kept teasing him as she moved closer to him, taking in more of him slowly, tentatively, her cheeks hollowing on occasion.

His hands were still gripping her hair, but this time he forced himself not to guide her, curious to see her own boldness. He felt her move him further in, a slight contraction of her throat, then a hurried withdrawal. She gave him a demure look as he smirked at her, his grip on her hair easing before she positioned her head into a better angle, taking him in again.

She let out a strained huff through her nose, letting her hand fall off him, engulfing more of him tentatively. She felt him press against the back of her throat uncomfortably, the urge to gag overpowering her as she withdrew again, taking another deep breath. She thought he would laugh at her efforts, but when she looked back up at him, his eyes held only a strange fascination, and palpable hungry lust.

She tried again, this time ready for the sensations. She concentrated on breathing through her nose, moving further and further in, her throat contracting around him a couple of times before her nose collided with his lower abdomen.

Bishop was letting out a loud groan through the entire process, her mouth enveloping him entirely. “Fuck… that’s so good…” he gasped as she looked up at him, her eyes glittering with hint of tears at the initial discomfort, but now she seemed to be composing herself, breathing somewhat steadily, her tongue attempting to move around the underside of his cock.

She started to bop her head lightly, gradually picking up the pace, an occasional hum forming at the back of her throat, vibrating pleasantly.

Soon her ministrations left him unable to keep still, his hand fisting in her hair firmly, his hips thrusting hard against her. She seemed to be starting to struggle with the pace, breathing through her nose heavily, excess of saliva building up in her mouth, at times escaping with the wild thrusts, dropping down her chin and on her breasts. He was way past being able to ease the pace though, his cock twitching in her throat, the occasional contractions sending him even closer to the edge.

She quickened the pace suddenly, uneven breaths escaping her nostrils. His hand flew to the edge of the desk beside them to steady him, fingers digging into the wood, nails scratching at it desperately.

“Fuck…” he grunted loudly, caught off guard by her sudden redoubled effort, filling her mouth. Her eyes went wide, massaging him with her throat muscles and tongue even more as she attempted to swallow. He reluctantly withdrew from her and she tried to recompose herself, her breathing heavy, face flushed and chest heaving frantically.

“Shit… you alright?” he gasped between his own heavy breaths, dropping on his knees to her, stroking her hair soothingly.

She nodded slowly, the initial shock finally passing. She gave him a weak smile and a somewhat embarrassed chuckle as he stared at her, no longer as concerned with her wellbeing as enthralled by the sight of her flushed face, messy hair and chin and breasts stained with fluids.

She bit her lower lip briefly when she noticed his hungry stare. It felt like she was being devoured…

Their afterparty suddenly felt far from over.

…

She nestled herself comfortably against his chest, hear head spinning and buzzing pleasantly.

Both of them were lying unceremoniously on the splayed tablecloth on the floor, empty bottles of spiced wine and stains from food decorating the doubtlessly expensive fabric.

Bishops fingers played lazily with the hems of her stockings, occasionally stroking over the contours of her otherwise naked body, but both of them were far too exhausted to continue their exploits.

It was almost morning, but there was no rush. The day ahead was pleasantly unplanned, leaving them time to recuperate.

“Wasn’t half bad, you know…” Bishop mumbled into her ear, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“Hmm?” she didn’t feel like using words. Closing her eyes made her too dizzy, so instead she concentrated on studying the stains on the tablecloth and trying to discern some patterns among them.

“The party… you think the Thalmor bash will be like this?” he chuckled, his chest vibrating under her.

She scoffed, turning around in his embrace, now getting dizzy from observing the stains too closely. She could see them when she closed her eyes.

“Well… might as well make the afterparty similar…” he patted her thigh with a pleased grin, still playing with her stockings.

“You like ‘em?” she sighed lightly, feeling him brush the fabric pressing against her scars.

“Yeah…” he murmured, not even sure why he liked the stockings on her. What was it about a measly piece of cloth?

“I think… she gave ‘em to me to hide… the scars…” she rolled over slightly, burying her head into his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t the dress hide them?” he chuckled, but she didn’t respond. He thought for a while in the silence, remembering her mood back at the store. She let people make her insecure way too easily. But then again, he felt like lately he could relate.

He slowly ran his hand below the stocking on her left leg, nudging it to uncover the old scars.

“I like them… they’re like your own little mystery. You ever gonna tell me how you got them?” he smiled lightly, but wasn’t really planning on coaxing her further. He knew too well how painful it was to share some memories.

“An evil cat…” she mumbled almost incoherently, turning over again, burying her head back into his chest.

He ran his fingers over the scars for a while gently before he noticed her breathing getting slightly heavier.

With great effort he managed to move, getting himself up, every muscle in his body sore as he collected her in his arms, laying her slowly on the bed.

He lay beside her, turning his attention to the enchanted headband tangled in her messy hair. He worked diligently, even with tired eyes, careful not to hurt her by tugging at her hair. The process lulled him pleasantly to half-sleep.

Finally, he raised the headband victoriously from her head, throwing it across the room.

It reminded him of the paladin.

It shouldn’t be on her.

She was all his.


	67. Rude Awakening

A frantic knock on the door woke him up.

What? It felt like he slept only for a minute.

Fuck, it was still dark out.

He _did_ only sleep for a minute.

Or was it another night already?

Aeyrin was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the commotion, her naked body curled on the bed temptingly.

The knocking didn’t stop.

He got up with a groan, looking over the floor to locate some trousers somewhere.

He found the fancy pair by the table, smirking when he remembered how they ended up there. He pulled them up swiftly before turning to the naked elf on the bed. He should probably cover her, in case someone decided to peek in. That was for him only to see.

He grabbed the tablecloth from the floor, forgetting about the empty bottles on it completely.

The loud clattering sounded through the room, the knocking getting even more intense as the person now likely knew that someone was awake.

Aeyrin, however, still wasn’t.

He draped the filthy cloth over her, heading towards the door, grumbling.

“What?!” he barked as he opened the door, only to see the paladin’s fierce scowl ruining his morning… or night… or whatever.

The tin-head barged into the room immediately, clad in his full-plate armor, catching Bishop off guard and moving past him with no trouble.

“I need to speak with her, there is an urgent… uh…” he stopped suddenly, his mouth ajar as he took in his surroundings. There were empty bottles on the floor along with some spills and food stains from their afterparty – the tablecloth wasn’t _that_ big, it was hard to contain their antics. Their discarded clothes were spread out all through the room, some thrown away over the course of the night, some left where they were shed and some kicked into various corners during their exertions. They rarely made use of the bed that night, the floor seemed somewhat more tempting.

His eyes roamed over the side of the room, pausing for a spell on the unceremoniously discarded magical headband, until they finally rested on the elf, covered by a filthy fancy tablecloth, one of her legs peeking from below it, displaying the dirty sole of her stocking.

He slowly turned to Bishop, incredulous look on his face.

“The fuck do you want? Get out of here, tin-head!” he grumbled, eager to get back to bed.

“I need to speak to her, it’s urgent,” the paladin hissed through gritted teeth.

“No fucking way. We just went to sleep. Get the fuck out!” Bishop growled at him, still standing by the door impatiently.

“You _just_ went to sleep? It’s almost morning! What in Gods’ names were you…” Casavir stopped himself in realization of the insinuations. He shook his head contemptfully, before explaining with a hint of defeat in his voice: “I need to wake her. There’s a dragon.”

Bishop narrowed his eyes at him. She was too tired to absorb a soul. Couldn’t the tin-head just have it killed and wait for a while? But she would be so pissed if he didn’t wake her up and tell her, at least. And the paladin really didn’t seem to even consider leaving.

“Fine. Get out. We’ll be downstairs in a while,” he groaned in annoyance again.

“You think I trust _you_ to do the right thing? You’ll likely just lock the door the second I leave. I’m waking her!” Casavir scowled, her eyes returning to her uncertainly, possibly wondering how she could sleep through all that.

“No you’re not. She’s naked. We need to keep you away from temptation church-boy, so scram,” Bishop smirked at him mockingly, inclining his head towards the door again.

Casavir groaned in frustration, but Bishop wasn’t sure if it was frustration at the situation or at the idea of Aeyrin, naked, so close to him.

“If you do anything stupid…” he spat at Bishop as he finally moved to the door, his eyes returning for a second on the enchanted headband thrown carelessly to the side of the room.

“Get the fuck out already!” Bishop barked back at him, slamming the door hard the second he was behind the threshold.

He turned to the still sleeping girl covered in a filthy tablecloth, approaching her tentatively, kissing below her ear and stroking over her shoulder.

“Wake up, sweetness, an annoying tin-head wants to get you killed.”

…

They appeared in the common room, greeted by the almost empty tavern with only a sleeping innkeeper with his head lain on the bar and the tall Imperial. His armor was glistening majestically in the light of the lanterns, his head covered with a similarly shiny helmet, two decorative metal wings protruding from its sides.

Aeyrin got the urge to giggle, suddenly realizing why Bishop called him ‘tin-head’.

Her head was still spinning lightly and she wobbled on her feet. Now she wasn’t certain if it was from the alcohol or from their eventful night before – she still felt sore all over.

“Casavir! Soo good to see you!” she yelled out, stumbling a bit in her steps. Her armor was so heavy, but she felt giddy for some reason, the brief rest filling her with strange amount of energy.

“My lady… you seem… excited…” he narrowed his eyes, looking her over. He looked cross with her. Why? He was fine when they parted ways last night.

“Yeah! Let’s go kill the lizard!“ she giggled, heading determinedly for the exit.

“It’s fucking daft! Can’t you just kill it yourself, tin-head? It’s really not that hard, even for someone as incompetent as you. She can absorb the soul later, when she’s not drunk!” Bishop barked at Casavir, who watched the legendary Dragonborn collide with one of the chairs in the room, sending it tumbling to the floor loudly.

“This is… different. We need her there right away,” he sighed, picking up the chair after her as they followed her outside.

“Why? They stay dead for a while. What’s so fucking urgent?” Bishop kept insisting as they were making their way towards the gates, his arm darting towards the drunken elf occasionally to support her. He noticed Karnwyr in the shadows, approaching tentatively, but he only shook his head at the wolf again. He wasn’t going to help against the dragon and it was safer for him within the city walls, no matter how much he pouted.

“This one doesn’t,” Casavir proclaimed somberly. “Besides, if it weren’t for you, we’d hardly be having this problem,” he added through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Now the fucking dragons are my fault too. You expanding your repertoire?” Bishop scoffed at him derisively. That man would blame anything on him.

“It’s your fault that she’s in this state! Your company alone obviously sends her judgement plummeting into the depths of Oblivion.”

“Fuck off, tin-head! She makes her own damn decisions. And at least she didn’t get bored to death with the evening _you_ planned for her.”

“You two!” Aeyrin yelled out, a chastising look on her face, before she stopped herself, her index finger raised, signaling for them to wait.

“E-excuse me for a bit,” she did a strange uncoordinated curtsy, before she suddenly ran off alongside the city wall into a shadowy corner.

They stared after her in confusion, but seconds later the situation became clear, as the sound of retching echoed from the corner.

Bishop gave out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. This was gonna end badly. He couldn’t care less about the trouble the dragon was causing people; she was in no condition to handle it.

If anything happened to her, he was gonna beat that fucking tin-head to a pulp.

…

Emptying her stomach of some of the alcohol and the cold morning air did wonders for her drunken state.

Sadly, they also left her in an excruciating hangover.

She groaned as they marched, pressing her head into Bishop’s leather armor.

Casavir walked some distance in front of them, throwing them frowny looks every now and then. He was clearly upset over something – maybe disappointed with her unladylike behavior. She had no energy to discuss ‘Bishop’s corrupting influence’ with him, however, and pretended that she wasn’t noticing his scowls.

“You said this dragon doesn’t stay dead?” she finally decided to break the silence, remembering vaguely his words back at the city.

“The ones we defeated before stayed dead for almost a day. This one, an hour at most,” Casavir responded in monotone, not even turning his head back towards her.

Her feet got a bit heavier, her walk now even more reluctant.

“I-is it… black?” she shared a concerned look with Bishop.

“No, my lady… I heard description of the dragon that destroyed Helgen, if that’s what you’re worried about. This one is different.”

She let out a sigh of relief. Still, it was somewhat strange. Mercer also said it took about a day before the dragon came back to life. Why was this one different? It could be just as dangerous as the black one. It could be _more_ dangerous. Divines, she needed to stop overthinking. Her head hurt.

They traveled north to the mountains by the Sea of Ghosts, the cold getting more and more unbearable.

Luckily it didn’t even take an hour before the sounds of roars and yelling men and women echoed across the trees.

“I suggest you stay back, my lady, save your energy for when it’s down,” Casavir finally looked at her, a grim determination on his face as the dragon came into view, a group of Imperial soldiers surrounding it on the ground.

It was different from the ones they’ve encountered so far. It looked smaller, its head was… flatter and its colors more vibrant, like a lithe predator, unafraid of being seen. It was bright bronze with glints of purple and blue glistening on its scales in the morning sun.

She really was exhausted and hungover, but Casavir’s mood was making her anxious and she was getting irrationally irritated with him. Especially with his overprotectiveness.

“What? No! I can fight!” she barked at him, her eyes fastened on him in a frown rather than on the beast.

She set out towards its direction before a strong hand gripped her around the underchain on her upper arm, hard. She stopped, looking over at Bishop with a surprised expression. It wasn’t like him to shy away from a fight.

His eyes were on the dragon, a strangely concerned look on his face.

She followed the line of his sight, watching the beast for a while.

After a bit of thrashing against its assailants, it opened its flat maw, a strange purple light forming at the back of it.

The paladin unsheathed his greatsword, running towards the creature, but she was more concerned with watching the unfamiliar attack.

A purple stream of magical energy escaped its maw, enveloping one of the soldiers, his whole body covered with the bright-colored aura. A piercing shriek followed next, filling the air with dread as she watched in stunned silence.

A second later, the man slumped to the ground heavily.

Her breath caught in her throat. She watched the dragon fight for a while longer, but there was no hint of the usual fiery or frosty attacks. She had no idea what to expect. Was it just not using its elemental breath? And what was the purple thing? It looked a little like the black dragon’s resurrection power, but… different?

She still understood so little.

And there was no real hope for understanding more anytime soon – the Thalmor were a sketchy lead at best.

She couldn’t concern herself now though, she had more pressing issues right in front of her.

She debated for a bit whether to join the fight. Bishop’s hand was still firmly around her arm, pointedly holding her in place. Not that she wouldn’t be able to escape his grip, but she was uncertain herself. The sinking terror claiming her, assuring her that she was sorely unprepared for whatever was to come.

It would help no one if she died there.

“It’s fine. They can handle themselves. Just… I don’t know… get ready?” Bishop gave her an uncertain look when she turned her head to him with a frightened expression.

Bishop stepped closer to her, enclosing his arms around her preemptively as they watched the battle unfold. Casavir was rather impressive with his gleaming sword, burying it deep into the beast’s neck, eliciting a loud roar of pain from it.

It looked to be almost dead.

Luckily it didn’t hurt anyone else since they arrived, she would have felt so guilty for just standing there, not helping when she could have.

She watched it tentatively as it slumped to the ground, the adrenaline making her forget her fatigue and her hangover readily. She couldn’t close her eyes this time, watching in trepidation, mesmerized as the familiar white light changed into a strange purple substance, sticking to the scales of the beast, eating through them as if they were melting snow. It stuck to the meat then, devouring it with the same intensity, then to the bones, making them sticky and aglow with purple magic as the insides behind them slowly dissolved into nothing – the only remainder was the shiny white light in the place of its heart.

She turned herself around, burying herself in Bishop’s chest with a terrified whimper.

What was going to happen to her?

It felt like she screamed but she couldn’t hear a thing. It was _on_ her. All over her. Her eyes were closed but she saw it right in front of her, as if she stepped out of herself and watched from nearby, her whole body engulfed in the purple magic. It stuck to her skin, like a thick layer of clotty blood. Then it started to eat through her, slowly, agonizingly. She felt every inch of her skin prickle painfully, as if tiny little insects bit her continuously and unceasingly. The sensation moved deeper, her skin as if dissipated into the Void. The meat on her bones felt exposed to the cold air, but it soon became engulfed in the same layer, the pain unceasing as it ate through her muscles and sinews, the slow process making her curl into a ball, screaming till her throat went numb. She felt it envelop her bones and gorge on her insides. Slowly she began to feel so empty. There was nothing left of her.

She could smell death.

…

It seemed like time stopped.

He watched her in his arms, clutching at him, trembling, screaming in pain.

He closed his eyes, pressing her even more tightly into his embrace. He hated these moments. She looked completely fine, at times cold, sweaty or pale, but there were no wounds, no blood, no bruises. But she still screamed, that piercing scream that made every hair on his body stand.

He heard her throat getting sore as the scream turned strained, silencing gradually. A familiar sound by now.

It was almost over now, he could already tell. The trembling got worse towards the end but the screams always stopped.

He sighed out deeply, stroking his hand over her hair soothingly.

But then…

He felt the clutch on his leather weaken, her weight in his arms suddenly slumping. Limp.

Dead.

His eyes snapped open in horror.

No… this was not happening… this couldn’t be happening.

He looked over her, not a muscle moving on her body, her face as white as the surrounding snow.

His breathing got ragged, his heart thumping wildly in his chest in panic.

Fuck… he wasn’t able to think.

This was _not_ happening.

His mind was blank.

His eyes only saw her, her pale face, her lips, slightly opened, her eyes, closed, relaxed.

He willed himself to look down her body, to see some semblance of moving, breathing… anything.

Suddenly there was a hand on her neck.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He recognized the bared hand on her as the glinting armor above the wrist blinded him for a second. He didn’t take his eyes off her though. He saw the man press his fingers against the side of her throat, checking for pulse.

Bishop was sure that there were loud sounds around him, some yelling, some talking, some screaming. He couldn’t focus on any of it.

He was shoved suddenly, her body torn from his grasp, a singe of anger coursing through him at their parting.

He only felt some of his senses return to him when he managed to focus his eyes back on her again – she was laid in the snow some distance away, the paladin kneeling by her, his hands alit with healing magic.

A last hopeless attempt?

No… who would heal a corpse?

She was alive.

“… doesn’t seem to be any actual damage. But she is unconscious. I’ll need to monitor her closely, to make sure there is no actual threat to her life.”

He heard the paladin call out to the soldiers.

What did _that_ mean?

And what the fuck?!

He wasn’t going to let him ‘monitor’ her! He was taking her to the temple, right away!

No way that the paladin would get to interfere with their lives any longer!

This was all his fault!

He thought she was dead because of him.

She _might have_ died because of him.

Fuck, she still _could_!

His blood was boiling, his heavy breathing getting even more pronounced.

The tin-head ruined everything he touched.

He would not get to ruin _her_!

Besides, Bishop had promised himself, if anything happened to her…

He rose to his feet, striding over to the paladin with determination and unbridled hatred.

“I will take her back to Caste Dour while you take care of the remains…” the tin-head barked orders at the soldiers again.

Not a fucking chance in Oblivion he would!

Bishop lunged at him as soon as he got close enough, tumbling both of them into the snow with a loud clank of his stupidly shiny armor. Bishop ended up half-straddling the paladin, giving him a vicious sneer as the man’s brows shot up in shock. He used the element of surprise to yank that imbecilic helmet off of him, throwing it across the plain before he punched down, hard, right into his face. Then again. And again.

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!!! I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE HER ALONE!!! YOU ALMOST FUCKING KILLED HER!!!”

Bishop screamed at him furiously. He was seeing red, struggling with the man’s arms that tried to restrain him.

He felt one of Casavir’s fists – the one that remained armored – land heavily on his face, his jaw crackling, sending him tumbling away from him.

Not. A. Chance!

He got up immediately, lunging at that piece of trash again. His fist connected with his eye but he earned another hard punch right away, making him splatter blood over the tin-head’s polished plate.

Next thing he knew, someone was behind him, restraining him, grabbing his flailing arms.

There was a sudden sharp pain at the back of his head.

Then… darkness.


	68. Deliver Us from Evil

His head was pounding.

His face was pressed against something cold and his nose was burning, sending piercings jolts of pain through him.

Yep, it was definitely broken.

He started to focus on the rest of his body. He was definitely lying on a cold floor, face down. There was a sound of dripping water somewhere and someone was talking… no… singing?

He placed his hands under him tentatively, careful to get up slowly as his head threatened to explode.

He finally managed to sit himself up, slumping against a wall right next to him.

He opened his eyes.

A cell.

Of course…

His hand instinctively shot to his waist, to his belt and lockpicks.

Gone. He was dressed in some old rags, his armor and equipment nowhere to be seen. Of course they’d take his shit…

Well… at least there was a rickety bed. Better than the floor.

The sound of delirious singing filled his ears again. It was undoubtedly one of his prison mates.

It made him furious. He needed quiet. He needed to think. He needed to figure out how to get out of there. He needed to see if Aeyrin was alive. She was definitely not conscious, she would have come for him.

“Shut the fuck up already!”

An annoyed voice echoed through the halls. A guard, likely.

Bishop moved himself to the bars with some effort, peering out as much as his confinement allowed, locking eyes with the man in the Imperial Army uniform.

“Aww… not enjoying your nap?” the man snickered, making his way towards Bishop’s cell.

“Why am I here?!” Bishop barked at him impatiently. He already had a suspicion, but it was always smart to get more information.

The guard smirked at him, taking out a parchment from his belt, clearing his throat and reading aloud: “Charged with assault, attempted murder and public endangerment… impressive list.”

Well… the assault checked out...

“Attempted murder?” Bishop gave him an exasperated look.

“Says here – assault with the intent to murder,” the guard grinned at him cheekily, obviously enjoying taunting caged criminals.

Murdering Casavir… that sounded nice… that’s what he should have done, ending it, once and for all.

“Public endangerment?” he sighed, resigned to hear what else the paladin blamed on him.

“Says – purposeful hindrance of the mission to rid the province of the dragon menace… sounds like a shitty thing to do,” the guard laughed at him, rolling back his parchment and stashing it into his belt.

Was he fucking serious?! _He_ was the one who hindered everything! _He_ was the one who almost got the Dragonborn killed! Maybe got her really killed… _Fuck! Don’t think about that!_

“Is she alive?” he sighed again in a while, looking at the guard, surprisingly pleadingly, desperate for more information.

“Who?” the guard gave him a puzzled look.

“The… Dragonborn. Is she alive?” Bishop growled impatiently.

“What? I guess… How the fuck would I know? I just have my parchment!” the man threw his arms in confusion.

Bishop groaned frustratedly. There seemed to be no way around this…

“I wanna talk to the tin-head,” he hissed through gritted teeth, imagining grabbing that pompous ass through the bars and smashing his fucking face against them until he bled out right in front of him.

“Huh?” the guard stared at him dumbfounded, his amused smirk replaced with perpetual confusion.

“The… paladin,” he growled. As if that manipulative jackass deserved to be called a ‘paladin’ after everything he did.

“The one you attacked? Sure… should I bring you some noble to rob too? Some kid to kill? Some girl to rape? We always strive to please our criminals,” the guard roared with laughter, shaking his head at Bishop in amusement.

Annoying tit…

“Just… tell him I wanna talk to him. He’ll come himself…” he grumbled in exasperation. This conversation was getting tiresome and he needed to know if she was alright.

“What do I look like? Imperial Courier Service? Fuck off and stop bothering me,” he snorted.

Bishop was _way_ past caring what trouble he got in. He was in enough shit as it was.

His hand flew suddenly, grabbing the guard by his uniform in great speed. He was all sore, but it hardly mattered. He pulled immediately, making the man collide with the bars; hard.

His grip wasn’t as firm as he would’ve liked though and the man slipped away, backing off from the cell and clutching his bloody face before Bishop managed to grab his keys.

“You fucking maniac! You’re gonna spend the rest of your life here!” the guard yelled with strangely amusing pitch in his voice – likely distorted from the way he clutched his nose. He turned on his heel, heading towards the stairs leading out the prison instantly after.

“You can send him here while you’re out there!” Bishop called after him mockingly.

Fuck, that was satisfying.

…

“Why am I not surprised that your first instinct was to attack someone?”

The sonorous voice made his eyes snap open and he got up from the rickety bed, walking towards the bars with fury in his eyes.

“Where is she?” he barked at the paladin, piercing his blue eyes with hatred.

“That is no longer your concern. She is safe. And she will be kept safe. From everything. Including you,” Casavir’s stony expression didn’t waver. For once there was no anger when he looked at Bishop, only cold indifference.

She was alive. Good. That was something. But he still needed to see her. Was she awake?

“Where. Is. She?” he repeated adamantly. He wanted to grab him, but the paladin stood a safe distance away – probably predicting his moves accurately.

“I have an offer for you,” his expression remained unchanged as he ignored Bishop’s question stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest.

“I will have you released. I will make sure your record is cleared – no price on your head… at least not from official sources. In turn, you will leave. You will leave _her_. You will never interfere with her life again. I will make personally certain of that.”

Bishop stared at him in silence for a while, his blood boiling. He _knew_ he wanted her. He wanted her all to himself, no matter what rules he had to break, what vows to forget. It only confirmed what he already knew about him. Those pretenses, those lofty goals and ideals, they meant nothing. Not when there was a pretty girl he could play hero for.

Hypocrite.

“And what does _she_ think of your offer?” he scoffed at him hatefully. Aeyrin would never stand for this extortion if she knew.

“She is in no condition to voice her opinions. But that is not your concern,” his face betrayed no emotion again, but Bishop’s blood turned cold at that.

What did he mean by that? What was wrong with her? Was she still unconscious? How long has it been?

“No fucking deal! Where is she?!” he screamed at him, anger welling up inside again. Just the sigh of his face was making him see red.

“Why? You may go. You are given a chance for a clean slate. For _her_ benefit. Otherwise your head would already be decorating the castle ramparts from the very second I saw you here. There is no reason for you to refuse.”

 _She_ was the reason to refuse. He will never leave her with that incompetent fool. He would get her killed, he already proved that enough. And for that matter, he will never leave her _at all_. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He wasn’t just going to surrender the only person that actually made him… happy.

“I will _never_ let you destroy her, like you did everyone else. If there’s anyone she needs to be protected from, it’s you! I will not let you take her away like you did Elisie, only to leave her when your true face threatens to be exposed! She deserves better than you!”

For the first time, Casavir’s stony façade faltered, his brows furrowing in both anger and… confusion?

“She doesn’t ‘deserve’ a callous criminal! It was your fault she was in that state and… and… WHAT?! ‘LEAVE HER’?! She’s the one who left! Because of you!” Casavir stared at him in pure outrage.

This was getting strange. What did he mean? Did Elisie send the tin-head away? But she didn’t want anything to do with Bishop, even after Casavir was gone… It didn’t make any sense. Excuses. Pathetic excuses. Because he didn’t know just how much Bishop found out.

“You left her with child you pompous tit! So much for your precious vows!” Bishop spat at him, making sure that the paladin knew what Bishop was privy to.

That did it.

The paladin stared at him for a while in silence, stunned.

_Yeah, that’s right. I know all about your shameful secrets you fucking hypocrite._

Casavir’s face twisted in a myriad of emotions. There seemed to be utter confusion, then a determined realization, followed by pure anger and hatred.

“You will rot here,” his stony expression returned suddenly as he turned on his heel, leaving Bishop rather shocked in his cell.

That was it?

No more retorts, no excuses?

And what the fuck was he supposed to do now?!

…

She felt a large calloused hand enclose around hers.

It was so pleasantly warm.

As the hand started to stroke hers lightly she tried to focus on her surroundings.

She was in a bed, a wonderfully soft and warm bed. It was so quiet and peaceful, her face was buried pleasantly in the feathery pillow and her whole body covered with a thick blanket. Her left hand was peeking out from under the covers but it was kept warm by the soothing large hand, stroking over her comfortingly.

“Bish…” a weak smile formed on her lips as she whispered.

The movement stopped suddenly, she felt the hand withdraw slightly, hover above her in uncertainty.

Was something wrong? She got a strange uncomfortable felling. She willed herself to move slightly, her fingers brushing weakly over the hand above hers.

“Lie down with me… please…” she half-sobbed, needing to feel his embrace. She tried to remember what happened, but all that consumed her thoughts of the past was the horrible pain, the slow decomposition of every inch of her body. It was like feeling death crawling through her very being.

“I… don’t think that would be… appropriate, my lady…”

An uncomfortable sonorous voice startled her. She forced her eyes open slowly, the blurry shapes revealing the large frame and dark hair.

“Casavir… s-sorry…” she muttered shyly. Where was she? And where was Bishop?

“No apologies necessary. Please, try to sit up. You need to drink and eat something to gather strength,” the voice spoke again, the shapes still blurry. Strong arms gripped her shoulders gently but firmly, supporting her weight to sit her up on the bed, her back leaning against the cold headboard. It was uncomfortable, she wanted to lie down again and just… sleep.

She closed her eyes once more, breathing out in effort. Why was she so tired? And how long was she asleep?

“Here, my lady, allow me,” he spoke again, then she felt the cold metal of a goblet press gently against her lips. She managed to grab at the item weakly, but his hand was already closed around it, so all she managed was a meager grip on his wrist. He tilted the goblet slowly, letting her swallow the water inside gradually.

It did feel a little better, she had no idea she’d been so thirsty.

She felt some pastry being pressed into her hand and she bit down on it automatically, feeling a little better with each bite.

Her vision finally cleared, at least a little, and she looked around.

She was in a large room, the stone walls were dark and lined with red banners with the symbol of the Imperial Dragon. There was a large map of Skyrim on one of the walls above an expensive-looking wooden desk – almost as fancy as the one Mercer used in his ‘office’. There were several armor and weapon racks by an armoire on the other side of the room, all carrying some beautifully decorated arms or cuirasses – likely for ceremonial purposes. She was lying on an enormous bed – larger than any she’s seen so far. It was feathery soft and probably the most comfortable thing her body’s ever touched, beautiful embroidered sheets of red and gold covering it majestically.

“Where are we?” she looked at him wide-eyed.

“My chambers at Castle Dour. I thought it best for your recovery, my lady. The temple is sadly… full… the injured soldiers are many. And I wanted you to have some privacy and quiet for your rest… the barracks lack those,” the paladin gave her a kind smile.

Dammit, she didn’t want to be anywhere near Castle Dour and the Legion ever again…

“I thought you were staying at the Skeever…” she pondered, remembering that the only time she saw his room there, it was decidedly lacking a door.

“It was temporary, while one of my men recovered here. For the same reasons I have already mentioned. I am more than happy to provide a sanctuary and healing when the priests have their hands full.”

She nodded at him gratefully, picking up the goblet from the bedside table. He already refilled it with water for her.

“Where’s Bishop?” she looked up at him before she downed the goblet in one, her parched throat cooling pleasantly.

There was a strangely uncomfortable silence for a while before he spoke.

“In prison, where he belongs,” he nodded somberly.

She almost choked on the water. What? Did Casavir just wait for her to be asleep to arrest Bishop? And what for?

“W-what? Why?”

“My lady… he attacked me,” Casavir sighed deeply, giving her a regretful look. Oddly enough, she felt it was far from genuine.

“A-attacked? What do you mean?”

“After you… fell unconscious, he lunged at me. I assume he wanted to kill me,” he still had that regretful expression. Now she was more and more convinced that it was fake.

Trying to kill Casavir… doubtful. He would likely not attempt such a thing. Not just because he disliked him. And not in front of the Imperial soldiers.

“He… did he… why do you assume that? Did he try to stab you? To shoot you? And why would he…”

“He’s an animal, my lady. A vicious killer. What else am I supposed to think when a man like him assaults me, tries to prevent me from healing you? He is a danger to everyone. To me. And to you.”

She stared at him in shock. She didn’t believe him. None of it made any sense.

“You are not to blame, my lady. I understand. Your kind heart is a virtue, but sadly, it will attract the worst sort of criminals. I know he manipulated you, tried to sway you from your convictions. It was his fault you were… in that state. It was his fault you weren’t ready to withstand the ordeal. And when his mistakes were laid bare, he lashed out. He even managed to assault the prison guard…” the paladin scoffed hatefully.

“Every single thing that comes out of his mouth is a lie. He tries to twist the truth with accusations and excuses. He will no longer get away with it,” he gritted his teeth, trying to give her a compassionate look. It seemed like… he wasn’t talking about what happened at the mountain anymore…

“Casavir… did he… _actually_ try to kill you?” she gave him a doubtful look, making his brows crease even further.

“Why do you keep making excuses for him, my lady? He is rotten to the core. He would have risked your life for his petty vengeance!”

He would never… no matter what, he always protected her, always put her wellbeing first. He took care of her when she was sick, he stood by her, making enemies out of the Stormcloaks, the Empire, being targeted by the dragons. He did everything to keep her safe from Mercer. If his revenge on Casavir was more important to him than her, he would have never stayed his hand before. She was pretty certain he had the abilities to wait for a more opportune time to kill the paladin, even to get away with it. But he wasn’t like that. Something else must have happened and Casavir’s hatred blinded him to any other explanation.

She got up from the bed abruptly, a new vigor coursing through her. She looked down on herself, finding that she was clad in simple white robes – likely from the temple, a garb for patients. She wondered briefly whether Casavir himself undressed her and put that thing on her, but it was hardly her largest concern.

“I don’t believe that he wanted to kill you. And my… ‘state’ was not his fault. I make my own decisions on what to drink, thank you!” she puffed, giving him an angry stare. “I want him released,” she folded her arms across her chest determinedly, trying to stare the paladin down to the best of her ability.

“No. He broke the law and he will pay for that. He is lucky I decided not to drudge up his past crimes. He would have been a head shorter by now,” Casavir’s expression turned cold and unfeeling. He stood up from the stool he was sitting on and towered above her.

“He poisoned your mind, it is not your fault,” his expression softened as she stared at him in desperation. How was she supposed to argue with him? He wouldn’t hear any of it! “Perhaps… would you like for me to accompany you to the chapel? To seek some guidance. I’m certain it would ease your worries. Faith shall deliver us from evil,” he smiled, the comforting mantra spouted at her like venom.

She stared at him, at a loss for words, at a loss for thoughts. The initial vigor was gone in her defeat and now she was too aware that she still felt so tired and she could think of nothing that would bring her more comfort than hiding in Bishop’s arms.

She couldn’t let him do this. She wouldn’t let him manipulate her about forgetting about Bishop.

“What is he charged with?” she barked, both anger and despair in her voice.

“Assault, attempted murder, public endangerment,” Casavir proclaimed, the stony stare back on his face.

“Did he draw a weapon?”

Casavir scowled at her, pondering a while. “It matters not, the intent was clearly to…”

“So that’s a ‘no’. What does ‘public endangerment’ mean? Did he endanger anyone but you?” she felt a tear escape her eye from her stressed out state, but she wiped it hurriedly. Now was not the time to show weakness.

“He endangered _you_! You needed a healer’s attention. And endangering you endangers whole Skyrim!”

“So I was dying? Were you going to heal me? I don’t remember being wounded!” she yelled at him angrily.

“You fell unconscious!” he retorted, raising his voice back at her, the situation making them both on edge.

“And how exactly were you planning oh healing _that?!_ ”

There was silence. The room suddenly uncomfortably small and cramped with the two of them watching each other, both in despair, regret and anger.

“Why are you doing this to me, Casavir? Do you really hate him so much to go this far? You’re… lying,” she felt another tear escape her, sniffling lightly. She thought she understood him. She thought that she had a friend in him. That Bishop’s hatred of him was an exaggeration. She wanted him to be wrong, she wanted it all to be just a misunderstanding between them, but that seemed like a far cry from the truth right now.

But then, something seemed to break in him. It was as if he just heard a long-kept secret, a shocking news. Was he really so blinded by his anger that he couldn’t see what he was doing?

“My lady… I am not trying to hurt you. I only want to protect you from him. I already failed to protect good people from him. I… I don’t want you to share their fate,” his shoulders slumped down, his face filled with regret, his voice suddenly far from stern and composed, but more desperate and on edge.

Who was he talking about? Jules’s girl and the child? From what Bishop told her, it seemed Casavir was rather successful in deterring her from him.

“I… what fate?” she bit her lip, cursing herself slightly for asking. But Casavir didn’t sound as if he thought he had something to be ashamed of, something to keep from public, something that only Bishop knew. Maybe it really _was_ a misunderstanding.

“My lady… many good people died because of his treachery. But that was not enough for that monster. After our initial encounter, I found that he was set to torment his own brother’s bereaved family. To worm his way into the heart of his brother’s lover. When I managed to make her see… he waited until I was away on an important mission…” he sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression, as if willing himself forcefully to speak on. “She was gone when I came back. But I knew what happened. Her neighbors said she was pregnant, alone and struggling to survive. I am certain that she would have never allowed him into her bed willingly and… I… The truth of why she never waited for me was clear. She left to escape from him…” there was sorrow in his eyes.

Did he really believe Bishop capable of something like this? No wonder he had such contempt for him. It was… a different story… but she felt compelled to believe him. Just like she believed Bishop.

They were both idiots…

“He thinks the child was yours…” she whispered, trying to connect the dots in her head.

“He… told you? About Elisie?” Casavir’s brows shot up in surprise, his expression uncertain, wary. He was without a doubt imagining what lies Bishop spun. “Do not believe his version of what…”

“Stop! Neither of you know what happened! You both just rely on rumors and blame the other one. Why? All this… hate… just because you both keep assuming… Bishop would never…” she shook her head in exasperation.

“You think it the only reason?! I had cause to believe him capable of this! He’s a liar, a traitor! The things he did before… He is without a doubt lying about Elisie too…” his anger subsided slowly, his brow furrowed in deep thought. There was doubt… she could see it.

“Whatever you think of him… you cannot do this. You can’t punish him for what you _assume_ he did. You don’t know what happened with him and… Elisie. You don’t know if he was going to kill you. Please, Casavir. You know you can’t keep him here. I’ll… pay his assault bail…” she gave him a beseeching look, the waning anger giving her more and more hope.

It took a long time for him to speak, his face contorting in clear conflict, reason and emotion waging a fierce battle beneath his creased brows.

He looked at her once more, searching her face, as if to find any hint of doubt. Any hint that she was uncertain about Bishop’s innocence.

There was none.

“Promise me one thing, my lady…” he sighed in defeat as she waited expectantly. “Do be wary. Be prepared that he may one day betray you, no matter his… affections. And… please, don’t let his venom poison you against other people,” his look was strangely pleading. Was he afraid that she wouldn’t speak to him after this? Well… at times that’s exactly what she planned, but… it all seemed too tangled now, everyone’s pride getting in the way of understanding.

“Only if you promise to stop ‘protecting’ me from him,” she gave him a wry smile.

Casavir sighed deeply again, heading towards his large desk. He shuffled some papers around, scribbling something down. In a while he returned to her, handing her a piece of parchment.

“A release form. Please, make sure to rest some more. I, of course, offer you my chambers, but… I want _him_ out of the Castle,” he frowned again, but his expression softened as his fingers brushed hers in the exchange of the piece of paper.

“Thank you… I think… I’ll just return to the inn. I need to make sure no one stole from our room. There’s this beautiful headband that I’d really miss…”

His smile seemed to melt all the tension in the room.

…

His back hurt like crazy.

The bed was worse than the floor in Riften sewers.

It was worse than the floor in High Hrothgar.

Or maybe it was just the fact that he didn’t get any sleep for three days now…

He rolled over angrily, groaning in pain and frustration.

The paladin never came back and the guard never came near his cell again, only threw some waterskin and bread at him occasionally, not risking the proximity.

Nobody would tell him anything. He had no idea how she was, where she was… if she survived…

She must have. She was stronger than that. That fucking beast wouldn’t kill her, not even when she was weakened like that.

It was all the tin-head’s fault. He told him to let her rest!

He needed a rest.

He just wanted to sleep…

…

He felt the warmth spread over his nose – the familiar tickle of healing magic.

Did the paladin grow conscience? Doubtful…

As the magic moved a bit, over his black eye, a soft touch of familiar lips replaced the tingle on his nose.

His eyes snapped open.

There was a beam of light shining through the barred tiny window, making her golden hair glitter otherworldly as she gave him a gentle smile, hems of a sleeve from a bright white robe tickling his neck when she moved her hand over his bruised face.

That was like an image from some religious book for children…

He was pretty sure he was dreaming.

“What is it with you and prisons? Why do you keep hanging around them?” she giggled, moving her hand away from his face and leaning in to kiss him gently.

“Fuck… princess… are you alright? What happened?” he quickly placed his hand on her cheek, making sure that she was really there.

“I’m alright… just… tired. We should really go sleep off last night…” she chuckled lightly.

“ _Last_ night?! We’ve been here for two fucking days!” he sat up on the bed sharply, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Oh… I only… I just woke up… I’m sorry you had to be stuck here…” she sighed, racking her brain to figure out the date. “What _did_ you do?” she gave him a curious look after a while.

“It was _his_ fucking fault! If he didn’t drag you in there… he deserved to have his fucking jaw fixed!” Bishop fumed.

“You… didn’t try to kill him, right?”

“If I tried, he’d be dead! And I fucking should have! He deserves a slow and painful…” he was silenced by her finger on his lips, her other hand brushing over his hair gently.

“Let’s just go get some sleep, please… I don’t want to think about any of this anymore…” she gave him a weary smile, laying her forehead against his.

He sighed in palpable exhaustion. Getting as far from this place as possible sounded so good.

“Yeah… let’s get out of this place.”

He planted a brief kiss on her forehead before he got up from the bed determinedly.

This better have been the last time he had to deal with that fucking tin-head.


	69. The Master Plan

The area around the mill was blessedly quiet.

Upon their return to The Winking Skeever, they found out they only had a single day before their clandestine meeting with Delphine.

Corpulus wasn’t really pleased with them occupying the room for two more nights while they weren’t even there… and haven’t paid. With their funds mostly depleted on the bail, they had no other way to pay for their room and food than to offer something to barter. Aeyrin reluctantly relinquished the silver ruby bracelet from Casavir. It was rude of her, but she had no other idea. And she wasn’t about to give up that gorgeous headband. That bracelet at least paid for the rest of their stay, but they would have to leave the morning after the Thalmor party.

It suited Bishop fine though. The sooner they got away from Solitude and the paladin, the better. And Karnwyr was getting really frustrated too. They at least took him outside the city walls this time – he could run around the wilderness until they returned from the party, at least he would get some of the energy out of his system.

Now there was only one thing in the way of getting away from the gruesome insecurity that plagued him ever since they arrived into the city – surviving a Thalmor party.

“Pssst!”

There was a sound coming from inside the mill.

Bishop and Aeyrin shared an exasperated look before heading inside the structure to meet the ominously cloaked figure waiting inside.

“Nice to see you, Delphine,” Aeyrin chuckled at her. She was a bit over the top with the paranoia.

“Ssshhh! Speak softly. You never know if they might be listening…” the woman whispered, looking around the very empty mill.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, woman... Please, tell me you found another lead, or got the info already,” Bishop grumbled at her.

“I… no… we need to go ahead with the party infiltration…” Delphine sighed in defeat.

“Fucking great… perfect end to a shitty fortnight,” he groaned.

“Come on… it wasn’t that bad… we had fun…” Aeyrin poked a finger at his chest teasingly, eliciting a pleased smirk from him. There were definitely fun parts…

“Ugh… stop making googly eyes and listen. We need to go over every part of the plan carefully. One misstep and we might all get caught,” Delphine chastised them impatiently.

“’We all’? If I remember correctly, you’re not actually gonna be risking your neck, unlike us!” Bishop growled at her.

“Well if either of you gets captured and tortured, there’s really no guarantee that you won’t sell me out, is there?” she huffed back at him angrily.

Delphine was met with an indignant stare from both of them. She only sighed again, fishing in her pack instead and pulling out several parchments.

“First, Aeyrin. I have gotten you an invitation. There is really no need for you to hide in any way, pretend you’re someone else or anything. The invitation’s for the Dragonborn. The Thalmor ambassador was apparently very interested in meeting you. All you need to do is be inconspicuous and casual. Mingle, dance, and such,” Delphine smiled reassuringly, but Aeyrin let out a desperate whimper. That was not comforting! “The important part is that you absolutely cannot let anyone leave the party. Anytime you see someone leaving, distract them, keep them in. There will be a contact of mine there to help you for a while, but after some time, he will need to disappear to provide access for Bishop to get inside.”

Aeyrin nodded slowly. She was anxious about being inconspicuous in a room full of Thalmor, trying to keep everyone in. But Bishop’s part would definitely be more dangerous. She had to do everything she could to make it easier.

“Oh! I almost forgot. I got you some things for the party. In case you were gonna complain about having to do everything yourselves…” she threw Bishop a glare, then pulled out a sack from her pack.

Aeyrin took it, peering inside briefly, seeing a hint of light turquoise fabric. Another dress… She only hoped this one didn’t include another bustier.

“Now… you,” she turned to Bishop. “There is a… service entrance that you can get inside with… here. You need to get past the wall around the embassy, but I have that covered. There’s some shrubbery, here and here, in between them, my associate will uhmm… well, he dug a hole… under the wall…” Delphine shrugged, earning a dubious stare from Bishop. “You just have to make sure you’re not seen. You can do that, right?”

“And what then? I suppose the service entrance will be opened by your contact. But you said I need to get inside the other building,” Bishop scowled at her, peering at the blueprints.

“Yes. My contact will then meet with you and show you where to hide. Then he will… cause a commotion at the party. Most of the guards should go deal with that. You will have a clearer path to make it to the other building, but you still need to be careful. I got you some invisibility potions just in case. And this,” she handed him a small satchel of potions and a simple silver ring. “It’s enchanted. It should muffle your movements somewhat. Are you familiar with that magic?”

Bishop nodded. It was hardly foolproof, but it always helped on jobs. She was… surprisingly prepared.

“Aeyrin, while the guards will be at the party, you need to make sure they stay as long as possible. My contact will help, but… if something goes wrong… Just do your best to improvise.”

“What am I looking for exactly?” Bishop scowled at her.

“Documents, likely. It would be best if you scoured the building, but don’t take too many risks unnecessarily. The best hope is the ambassador’s office… here. And… the torture chambers… here, in the basement.”

“And how the fuck do I get out then?”

“That’s the best part!” Delphine actually beamed proudly at him. “In the torture chamber, there’s a… corpse shoot… you can’t get inside like that, it’s too high and too visible to just enter the room like that. But the other way… you’ll be able to get there by the beams across the ceiling or something. It leads through a cavern, then outside, right by the shore of the sea. You’ll be a safe distance away then, with the documents.”

“How do _I_ get out?” Aeyrin frowned a bit. It sounded rather convoluted, but… surprisingly, she felt sort of optimistic about it. Delphine really thought of a lot of things.

“With the other guests, of course. If everything goes well, there should be absolutely no suspicion on you.”

They were silent for a while, looking over Delphine’s plans and the items she brought. There were even some lockpicks in Bishop’s package.

“Well… go on… what’s wrong? Get the complaining done so we can move on,” Delphine folded her arms across her chest expectantly.

“It’s pointless, that’s what’s wrong. Useless risk…” Bishop barked at her, another minute of silence following. “But… eh… I’ve had worse jobs. Should be easy,” he shrugged noncommittally. He would _never_ admit that, but he was actually getting a bit… excited. It’s been a while since he infiltrated something. And if it weren’t for Mercer’s presence looming all over the job, he would have even enjoyed the Goldenglow contract.

Delphine gave him a surprised stare, but then furrowed her brows again, looking at Aeyrin.

“I… I’ll try my best… I don’t know… I’m not good at… being subtle… and fancy parties…” she shrugged nervously.

“You’ll be fine, princess, you’ve got practice now,” Bishop chuckled. “Just have a drink and keep bugging people trying to leave. No big deal,” he squeezed her around her shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t… overdo it with the drinks… you need to keep alert,” Delphine reprimanded her.

“Well, alright then. This went better than I thought,” she laughed a bit. “The party’s tomorrow, as you know. My contact will be having lunch at the Skeever before going to the embassy. Be sure to go to the common room too and check him out so you know who to expect. Do not approach him though! We cannot have any connection between you whatsoever. He’s a Bosmer. Shouldn’t be hard to pinpoint. He has spiky light brown hair and will be wearing a blue tunic.”

“A Bosmer? You’re working with a Bosmer? Isn’t he an inevitable Thalmor spy?” Bishop chuckled at her meanly.

“He’s fine. He already helped me against them several times,” she scowled at him disinterestedly.

“That’s how you gain someone’s trust. Then you wait for the most opportune time and…”

“Bishop! Don’t make her _more_ paranoid!” Aeyrin chastised him, giving a slightly apologetic shrug to Delphine.

“Whatever… I’ll see you tomorrow. Here, after the party. I’ll be waiting for you.”

…

“Come on, let’s see it!”

Bishop chuckled as he was putting on his leather armor, making sure that no buckle could come undone, no clasp could rattle – nothing could give him away.

They were making their preparations in the bathing area of The Winking Skeever, most of their things left back at their room. They couldn’t really carry anything with them. Bishop would move much easier without a pack and Aeyrin would likely be searched for any weapons and such. A bit redundant at a Thalmor embassy… wasn’t everyone there a mage?

Aeyrin was putting on the things Delphine got her behind the changing screen. Bishop seemed excited about her in another dress, and to be fair, she was kind of starting to come around about wearing them too. They were all rather uncomfortable, and she still hated the high heels, but she liked how the dresses looked and how they affected Bishop. And ever since she saw him in his fancy frock, the insecurities planted by the shopkeeper from The Jewel were erased.

She finally left from behind the changing screen.

She was wearing a tight fitting dress, bound behind her neck with the majority of her back exposed, same at the golden one from Mercer. The skirt was atypical, flowing down to right above her knees at the front but going all the way down at the back. It was light turquoise at the top, seamlessly blending into a pearly white color at the midsection and light violet at the bottom. There was an ornate applique made of various small pearls and gems covering the collar and cleavage. She also had light turquoise shoes with straps going all the way up her calves, as well as some jewelry in colors and style perfectly matching the dress. Delphine certainly spared no expense to make her blend into the high society. Where did she even get the money to get all these things? She _did_ mention that she owned the Sleeping Giant Inn, but still…

Her hair was made up into a high bun with few strands falling down the sides of her face and she applied light make-up to her eyes. She was definitely more comfortable in this than the ballgown… the skirt wasn’t so heavy and she could actually breathe normally for a change. Luckily, Delphine didn’t think that her figure needed to be more presentable…

“Fuck… do we really have to go already? We should have done this a lot sooner…” Bishop crossed the distance between them, draping his hands over her waist and pulling her close to him, trapping her in a deep kiss a second later.

She giggled at him, her cheeks flushing.

“Well… think of it as an incentive. I better see you back at the mill soon.”


	70. Infiltration

_ Author’s Note: _

_Last chapter was really short, so I’m posting the next one sooner :)_

_Hope you enjoy! And thank you all for your support and your lovely comments :)_

* * *

“Invitation.”

The tall Altmer in a glistening golden ornate armor extended his hand to her expectantly.

She handed him the invitation a bit nervously. Was it legitimate? Or did Delphine get a forgery? She said that the ambassador wanted to meet her, so it was likely alright. Still, the stony expression on his face made her so nervous.

He looked up from the paper after a while, looking her up and down slowly, then giving her a mocking sneer.

“You can go inside, _Dragonborn_. You’ll be searched for weapons before you enter.”

She gave him a curt nod, heading up the stairs covered in light layer of snow. The open shoes made her toes freeze and she wrapped herself tightly into her white fur cloak.

There were two more guards at the top of the stairs, both clad in the same golden armor. One of them positioned himself in front of her, nodding at her to open her cloak. The search was rather longer and... more thorough that strictly necessary, but she was able to enter the embassy soon enough.

She entered the crowded room, leaving her cloak with a young woman in a black and yellow maid outfit.

It was a lot smaller than the Blue Palace ballroom and there were a lot less people inside. That was good. If the place was that large, she would hardly be able to guard the exit. She noted that there was only one door leading outside, but it was possible that someone would use the service entrances. She needed to watch out for them too.

She spotted Delphine’s contact walking around with a tray of drinks. She got the urge to nod at him conspiratorially, but stopped herself. That would have hardly been subtle.

“Ah. The Dragonborn, I presume?” a tall Altmer woman stopped her in her careful scrutiny of the room. The woman had an extremely elaborate updo, her body decorated with golden jewelry beset with large diamonds and a lithe long dress, shimmering with gold and silver colors. She was almost blinding.

“Ambassador Elenwen, representative of the forces of the Dominion in Skyrim. A pleasure,” she extended her hand to her in greeting, the tone of her voice cold, haughty and strangely charged with curiosity.

She felt so small next to her.

She shook her hand in greeting politely. “Pleasure to meet you. My name is Aeyrin,” she gave her a small smile, hoping that the name would stick and everyone wouldn’t just call her ‘Dragonborn’ again.

“Yes. I am curious, Dragonborn,” _dammit,_ “what made you seek out an invitation to my soiree? From the rumors alone… I didn’t assume you had much interest in making contacts in Skyrim’s higher social circles,” she gave her a derogatory look, creasing her brows.

Good question… she needed to think of something.

“The truth is… the dragon situation… it seems to be getting worse. And… I… it feels like a lot of people depend on me to resolve it. I guess I was just hoping to gain some… support…” she shrugged nervously. Was that convincing? But when she thought about it, it wasn’t exactly a bad idea. Although she couldn’t really imagine scouring Skyrim with an army at her back, seeking out every single dragon they could find. And besides, the black dragon could just return and resurrect them all over, couldn’t it? No army could help when she had this little information.

“Understandable. The dragons present a great threat to order, especially in the midst of the Nord’s petty rebellion. You would do well to garner more allies to your cause. Perhaps… we could later discuss how _you_ could assist the Dominion in our efforts in this backwater. The might of the Thalmor is hardly matched, as you surely know,” the woman nodded approvingly, eyeing Aeyrin with peaked curiosity.

The might of the Thalmor was definitely hardly matched, but she was certain she wanted nothing to do with their religious persecution. She would just have to make some excuse later. There was no way she could tell the head of the Dominion that she disagreed with their reign.

Aeyrin nodded at her with a feigned smile as the woman moved on to mingle with other guests.

Good. She really wanted to talk to someone less intimidating.

She looked around the room with curiosity. Everyone seemed so… well off. They had the most expensive garments and jewelries donned, their postures regal and confident. There was no doubt that these were the most influential people in Skyrim.

“I _did_ feel that there would be an old acquaintance surprising me at tonight’s event,” a voice interrupted her again.

“Jarl Idgrod,” Aeyrin gave the woman a kind smile. Finally a friendly face.

“You look like you’re up to something,” the jarl whispered suddenly, a sly smile on her face.

What? Was she that obvious? Or did the jarl sense something in her visions? She still wasn’t sure what her gift was capable of.

“W-what? ‘Up to something’? Why would you think that?” she stammered a little, doing her best to keep her composure.

Idgrod gave her an amused smile: “Wishful thinking, perhaps. These events tend to bore me to tears. Any excitement is a welcome distraction. Besides, excitement _does_ seem to follow you, dear.”

“Heh… no excitement yet, my lady,” Aeyrin chuckled with perhaps too palpable relief.

“Well… the night _is_ young.”

…

Bishop was crouching by the low wall, making sure that he could not be seen by the elves inside the complex.

It was taking too long. Where was that damned elf?!

Finally, the rustling of the shrubbery gave him the needed signal.

He flattened himself on the ground, crawling through the dug up hole.

After a brief glance around, he felt confident enough that no one was around to see him. He rushed through the shrubbery, making as little noise as possible, bolting towards the service entrance.

“There you are. All good? Nobody saw you?” the Bosmer greeted him the minute the door closed behind him.

“All good. What now?” Bishop nodded, the adrenaline already coursing through him. He always liked these heists for some reason. The thought of slipping through shadows right under everyone’s noses was so exciting.

“Follow me, I’ll hide you in a pantry closet. You need to stay there until the guards come to the party, some of them might use the service entrance, so don’t move a muscle. I’ll come for you when the coast is clear,” the elf explained briefly as he dragged him through the kitchens into a small cluttered room.

He was locked inside, in a complete darkness, not a sound around.

He had to be careful not to move too much, he could bump into anything and make a lot of noise.

Aeyrin must have been just a short distance away from him at the party.

He wondered how she was doing.

…

Well, that seemed easy.

Nobody even tried to leave the party.

She tried to talk to some people to appear busy. She talked to someone in charge of some large export company, but the conversation threatened to put her to sleep – the woman couldn’t stop talking about business. Aeyrin knew absolutely nothing about transporting merchandise and she was only reassured that she didn’t want to learn any more about this particular subject.

She also talked to Idgrod again for a little while, discussing her vision of the clipped black wings a bit further. The jarl was very disappointed that Aeyrin had no better idea what it could mean.

She spent most of the time walking around the room idly, trying to think about who to talk to without seeming suspicious.

“Well, hello there,” a tall blond Nord in a bright red overly decorated doublet approached her.

“Oh. Hello. My name is Aeyrin,” she gave him a polite smile, extending her hand. She was a bit more comfortable here than at the ball. First of all, there were less people, and most of them were likely very important in Skyrim’s high society, so she wasn’t really the center of attention, luckily. And secondly, there was no one else with her whom she was embarrassing by her awkwardness. It was somewhat ironic, that she felt less awkward now.

“Charmed. I am Erikur, thane of Haafingar. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, dear,” he turned her hand instead of shaking it, planting an overly wet kiss at the back of it.

She had no idea why she should have heard of him. Was being a thane really a big deal? Did people even know she was one? She doubted that… She decided to only give that man a polite nod, snatching her hand away. No need to cause trouble.

“I have heard much of you too, dear. To be honest, from the rumors alone, I assumed this party to be charged by a burly mountain of a woman,” he laughed heartily, giving her a mischievous wink.

Aeyrin flushed in response. She knew everyone wanted a big Nord hero, but not many actually came out and said it so blatantly.

“I assure you, I can handle myself,” she mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that! Look at you…” he chuckled, gesturing to her body from the neck down, making a swaying curve with his hands. “I bet I could handle you too, though,” he added in a low voice, almost growling.

What? Was he saying what she thought he was saying? That would be strange on such an event… everyone else seemed overly polite and refined. He would probably not make such crass comments. Bishop’s gutter mind must have been rubbing off on her.

Heh… rubbing off on her…

_Stop it!_

“Uhmm… I should…” she started to make excuses. There was someone lingering around the exit. Was he gonna leave? She needed to stop him. And she couldn’t stare at him! It was too suspicious.

She set out towards the man by the door determinedly but was stopped. Erikur’s arm was blocking her path, outstretched to lean on one of the pillars in the room.

“Not do fast, dear. I had a mutually beneficial proposition for you,” he smiled at her strangely sleazily.

“What proposition?” she inquired quickly, wanting to get this over with. The man by the door still lingered there. Maybe he wasn’t going to leave, but she couldn’t take that risk. They needed to monitor everyone, make sure that no one would be outside to catch Bishop off guard.

“I admit, I’ve always been curious about the rumors of you tree-saps,” he winked briefly before leaning his head closer to her, his voice lower, almost a whisper. “I hear you are insatiable between the sheets. Almost feral. Now what do you say, show me just how much of that is true?”

She looked at him with an incredulous stare. Was he serious? And what was it with Nords and calling every Bosmer feral or a cannibal? Just how ignorant were they?

“No,” she proclaimed resolutely. Readying to bypass him through the other direction. That damned man was still by the door, looking around suspiciously. What was he doing?

“Now, now, hold on,” Erikur didn’t seem deterred, extending his arm in the other direction. She noticed that he attracted some attention from an onlooking guest. “I don’t think you’d wanna miss this opportunity. Believe me you’ll be grateful. I can _really_ make you Shout…” he chuckled, making a disgusted shiver course through her spine.

“Still no!” she raised her voice a bit, subconsciously, but the man stepped in her way again. From the corner of her eye she noticed something – the contact, he was gesturing towards her, bobbing his hands subtly. Did he want her to make a scene? Maybe he needed a distraction. She noticed more of the people looking their way. This was no doubt what he wanted.

“Wait, dear. I don’t think you know exactly what you would be missing… have you ever been with a Nord man? I guarantee you would find it a very good… fit,” he gave her a disgustingly lascivious once-over. Then again… he wasn’t wrong. But this Nord man was definitely not a ‘good fit’ for her, in any way. The man dared to reach with his hand, brushing it lightly against her bare shoulder.

Well… the contact wanted a scene…

A resounding slap landed on Erikur’s face. She disliked resorting to violence, but it _was_ important to make the distraction good. And it was kind of satisfying…

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled out loud enough for the whole room to hear.

Erikur frowned, noticing the curious onlookers. “Dear, there’s no need to make a scene… quiet down, and let’s just discuss this…”

“There’s nothing to discuss! What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?!” she retorted, getting surprisingly caught up in the scene. Well, she’s always been much more determined and eloquent when the anger set in, and this man was trying her patience.

“Erikur, are you actually harassing the Dragonborn?!” a young woman approached them as the other guests watched things unfold.

“Harassing?! I was offering, and the tree-hugger’s acting like she’s better than anyone here!” Erikur was starting to get angry himself. Well… it didn’t seem like Thalmor embassy was the best place to rely on racial slurs.

“It’s not like you make it _that_ challenging…” Aeyrin scoffed at him, surprisingly enough, eliciting an approving chuckle from Elenwen, who was until now observing with palpable disinterest.

“What did you say to me, whore?!” the man fumed. Wow, it was really easy to rile him up. She doubted the contact could have hoped for a better distraction.

“Erikur!!! This is completely impudent! This is how you intend to represent my court?” the young woman piped up again, folding her arms across her chest.

‘Her court’? Aeyrin finally focused her attention on the woman. She was… strikingly beautiful, like the perfect picture of a Nordic beauty. She had long platinum blond hair tied into an elaborate braided bun, decorated with a lavish golden circlet beset by rubies. Her eyes were a light shade of blue and she had freckles on the pale skin around her nose. Her gown had an odd straight cut, protruding away from her body at the cleavage and accentuating her slender waist. It was bright red with glittering gold embroidery all over it and all her expensive jewelry complemented the colors perfectly.

“My queen… I was just…” Erikur paled suddenly, recoiling from Aeyrin. Did he just say ‘queen’?

“It’s unacceptable! We will need to reevaluate your position once we return to the city,” the woman continued to chastise him, but he no longer got the chance to get defensive.

A loud crash sounded from behind one of the service doors, making everyone jump with a start.

A quiet spread through the room. Aeyrin tried to locate the contact, but he was right there in the room. Was it something else? Or was this going according to plan?

A minute later a group of guards ran into the room – two from the service entrance and two from the front door.

“Ambassador, we had an incident. We will need to…” the guard lowered his voice before he spoke the last part, “investigate all the guests.”

She looked at the Bosmer out of the corner of her eye again. He gave a brief nod. Good. It _was_ part of the plan.

“I am so sorry, my dear guests, but my guards need to make some inquiries of you. I hope you understand, it’s _your_ safety that we are most concerned about,” Elenwen addressed the room with a regretful look. She didn’t seem at all surprised at the commotion.

Three guards positioned themselves by the doors – one in front of each exit, while the last one started to talk to the guests.

Well, now just to make sure she wasn’t looking suspicious.

…

Bishop downed one of the invisibility potions once the sounds of armored boots on the stone floor were far enough.

The Bosmer came for him earlier, unlocking the door and telling him to wait for the guards to pass, then he apparently set up some sort of trap to make a distraction.

The coast should have been more or less clear in the service entrance and the elf was sure that the majority of the guards would be searching the building where the party was. All he needed to do was get through the kitchens and then the courtyard.

He snuck away from the closet – no one around, good.

There were some hushed voices coming from the kitchens. He crept in closer, peeking from around the corner carefully. He saw two guards gathered around a Khajiit woman, forcing her into the corner of the room and asking her various questions.

They wouldn’t see him with the potion still being in effect. He just needed to be quiet. He slipped by them, making his way to the exit.

Everything went surprisingly smoothly.

The courtyard had only two guards in it and they were all too easy to avoid.

When he made his way towards the second building, hugging the wall and staying low, he noticed another Altmer, leaning against the entrance. He looked like one of those justiciars.

Well, using the front entrance was a daft idea anyways…

He circled towards another side of the building.

An open window, second floor.

This was almost getting boringly easy.

He waited until the Thalmor making their rounds around the courtyard were reliably out of line of sight and started to climb up on the fence near the building, using it to hoist himself up into the open window.

Well… it looked a bit easier in his head.

The fence was not hard to get a grip on in the leather gloves, but it was a bit further from the window than he originally thought.

He ended up dangling from the window sill, all too visibly for his liking.

In the end he managed to hoist himself up with some strain, but he tumbled a bit loudly on the floor inside.

He ran immediately to hide in a nearby closet, but minutes passed and nobody came to check on the noise.

Not bad – he was inside and he did have a good positon now.

He took another one of the potions and set out to explore.

…

The place was somewhat emptier than he expected, but there were still some Thalmor around.

He eavesdropped on a conversation between a Thalmor and one of his informants, but there was nothing really useful that he managed to overhear.

With little patience and meticulous checking of the rest of the building, the main office was finally empty, just as his last potion was starting to lose its effect.

He picked the locks on the desk and the chest behind it hastily.

There were some important looking papers there, but he certainly wasn’t about to read through them.

Best to just get everything.

He loosened his chest armor and started to stash anything he found inside into the flat pockets. He fitted his armor with them years ago when he noticed the Guild members using a similar system. He bolted under the desk whenever he heard footsteps approach, but nobody came into the office again.

Everything was going so smoothly, it was almost laughable.

Well, it wasn’t as if he was complaining.

There was only one last stop to make – the torture room.

He continued through the door in the office, descending the old moldered steps to the basement.

He entered the chamber carefully. Without his potions, he would be really fucked if he was seen.

But the reality was almost too good to be true.

There was no one.

Well, there was a person chained in one of the alcoves, but he was likely delirious, his groans of agony spread through the room continuously.

He made his way to the lowest floor, not even bothering with walking across the beams.

There was another chest by the desk with some more important looking papers and small books. He stashed them in his armor again, arranging all the little books and parchments towards his back, where they created the least discomfort while moving.

Time to see who was unfortunate enough to piss off the Thalmor.

He walked towards the alcove, watching the chained up man for a while. He was slumped down, his body full of magical burns and knife scars. His face was hidden by his sweaty hair, falling over it as his head hung down in weariness.

Bishop approached tentatively and the man at last noticed that he was no longer alone.

“I told… told you… I don’t know…” he cried out, then he raised his head weakly, attempting to give Bishop a defiant look.

“Etienne?!” Bishop’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. What the fuck would _he_ be doing there?

“W-wha…. Bi-shop?” the man gasped out, but he seemed too weary to be shocked.

Bishop unclasped the emergency health potion from his belt, forcing the liquid down Etienne’s throat before he started to work on undoing his chains.

“Fuck… I can’t believe… fuck… what are you doing here?” Etienne took several deep breaths, some color returning to his face.

“Long story. Now we need to get the fuck out of-“

“BEHIND YOU!!!”

Etienne shouted with all the strength he could muster to his voice.

Bishop drew his knife immediately, turning around sharply.

There was a justiciar at the back of the room by the stairs, his hands lighting up malevolently with purple crackling lightning.

Bishop didn’t hesitate – the Altmer was out of reach, but he was good at range. His dagger flew from his hand instinctively with great speed. He was sure it would hit.

The mage didn’t even manage to change the sneering expression to one of shock, before the knife hit its target, right between his eyes.

But it was too late.

The intense lightning shot out from the dying man’s hands, hitting Bishop hard in the chest, sending him crashing back into Etienne’s weakened body.

A searing pain coursed through his entire body. He was sure he was badly burned, as the cloth of his tunic stuck wetly to his chest. His body spasmed uncontrollably as Etienne supported him with the last vestiges of his strength.

“Fuck! Shit! Bishop?!” Etienne cried out as Bishop tried to steady himself on his feet, his body thrashing against his will, making its control way too difficult.

Etienne draped Bishop’s arm over his own shoulder, supporting his weight as Bishop stumbled. He tried to walk, but Etienne had to half-drag him away from the alcove, looking around in panic.

“K-knife,” Bishop growled at Etienne weakly.

“It’s a fucking chunk of metal, dick!” Etienne yelled out at him angrily, but much to Bishop’s surprise, he propped him up against the wall and made the few steps towards the Altmer’s corpse, yanking the knife from his head with a loud grunt. Etienne almost stumbled on his way back to Bishop, grabbing his arm again to drape it over his shoulder. He looked for a while as if he would shove the knife into Bishop’s gut just for the fact that he was asked to do this, but instead he sheathed it into his belt.

“C-corpse… shoot…” Bishop grunted loudly in pain, the searing heat in his chest making him feel like he would go up in flames any second.

He gave his only potion to Etienne. He wasn’t sure if he regretted it now, or if he was grateful that it gave the rogue the strength to help him.

Etienne luckily knew exactly what he was talking about.

They made their way to the corpse shoot agonizingly slowly, lingering above it.

“Fuck…ing… go…” Bishop growled impatiently, letting the rogue drop him to his knees as he jumped down, a loud grunt hinting at the height of the shoot a second later.

Well, what else was he gonna do? Rot in Thalmor torture room?

He slumped down, falling over into the shoot.

His body collided heavily with the rogue, who mercifully decided to break his fall, but they both groaned in pain at the impact.

“Couldn’t you fucking come around tomorrow? It’s healing day tomorrow…” Etienne growled as he collected Bishop’s still spasming body around him again.

“Sorry… to… f’ing… inco-inconvienien… you…” Bishop hissed through gritted teeth weakly. Everything burned so much. And his legs still refused to listen to his commands.

They made their way out of the small cavern slowly and arduously, finally ending up below a cliffside by the Sea of Ghosts.

“Right… fuck… you’re heavy… what the fuck… we do now?” Etienne huffed in palpable exhaustion, still supporting Bishop’s body weakly.

“Mill…” Bishop grunted in effort, trying his best to force his own remaining strength to hold him up at least partially.

“W-what? Mill? The… fuck? That’s… fucking… across… the mountain…” Etienne breathed heavily, his body starting to shake.

“Shore… go… by shore…” Bishop answered weakly. The journey would be so much longer, but what choice was there? They would never get across the mountain in that state.

“No… better…” Etienne’s eyes lit up slightly as he stared at the small peninsula they were near to – there in the distance was a small dock. They both knew it – some of the less… legal goods made their way from there to Solitude. There was bound to be something they could use there – a small boat, or a cart.

It was only a matter of getting there.

…

“Once more.”

The Thalmor guard’s cold stare pierced her uncomfortably. He was definitely suspicious of her.

“A-alright… first I gave the coat to the maid, then I talked to ambassador Elenwen briefly, then to Jarl Idgrod. After that, I talked to… her,” she pointed to the woman from the merchant company, thinking over the events of the evening. There was really no reason for her to lie, she technically did nothing wrong.

“After that I talked to Jarl Idgrod again, and then… to that… man,” she creased her brows in disgust.

“Yes. Thane Erikur. So you’re saying that all these people can verify your constant presence in this room? You never left? Not for some fresh air?” he eyed her with a stony expression. He was clearly not allowed to press the guests too much. That would likely not be received well.

“No, not for a second. You can ask anyone,” she gave him a small smile. She was a little worried that Erikur might try to pull something as a revenge, but there were way too many witnesses to their conversation.

The man didn’t speak further, only turning on his heel and heading towards another guest.

It was taking so long.

What if they found out that someone stole from them? Then they would surely take to more drastic measures.

She hoped that Bishop was alright. He had the more difficult part of the mission after all.

But the contact seemed so calm. Either he was really good at pretending, or everything was going smoothly so far.

“Lady Dragonborn?”

A soft voice disturbed her from her pondering.

She turned to see the young Nord woman – the ‘queen’ – giving her a kind smile.

“High Queen Elisif, we didn’t get a chance to make a proper acquaintance.”

“Aeyrin. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she smiled back at her, shaking her hand.

“You too, lady Aeyrin. I would like to apologize again for Erikur… he has been troublesome a few times before. I fear even my late husband’s favor won’t spare him this time. I hardly have need of this sort of representation,” she sighed, shaking her head demurely. She _actually_ used her name… Wait, what did she mean ‘spare him’?

“I… uhh… it’s alright… I really don’t think anyone needs to get hurt over…” Aeyrin stammered nervously. Were all Skyrim leaders psychopaths?

“Oh Divines! No… nothing like that! I’m sorry,” Elisif chuckled in amusement. “He misuses his title and makes a mockery of it. All I’ll do is take it away,” she raised her hands in mock appeasement.

“Ah… right. Sorry,” Aeyrin flushed. Well, she _did_ say it rather ominously before, she could hardly blame her for making assumptions.

“I was curious to know how long you were staying in Solitude. I heard from General Tullius that you declined his invitation into the ranks of the Legion and… don’t get me wrong, I do not disapprove, it is your choice after all. I was merely curious whether you were as… opposed to… dealing with… well… me. I would certainly like to keep relations amicable,” she smiled again. It was such a genuine smile, it could light up a room. Or perhaps she was just good at faking it.

“Oh… no… I just… the dragons are really my main concern. I simply…” she sighed, racking her brain on how to explain.

“You simply didn’t want to be used as a weapon in the civil war,” Elisif nodded sympathetically.

Aeyrin’s eyes went wide at her insight. She really did seem sincere.

“So… _are_ you staying in Solitude for much longer?” Elisif smiled at her again.

“I… I don’t think so. We were actually planning to leave soon after this event, but I suspect we’ll be returning to the city at some point,” Aeyrin shrugged noncommittally.

“’We’?” Elisif gave her a curious look.

“Ah…” Aeyrin stopped herself. Was it alright to be associated with Bishop? Well… supposedly he wouldn’t be seen stealing the secrets. And so many people already knew they were here together. She was starting to get overly paranoid about every little thing she said. It was grating.

“Yes… me and my companion,” she nodded after a while.

“Ah, yes. I heard you didn’t come to the city alone. Why is he not here with you?”

“I only got the one invitation. And… he really doesn’t like this sort of… thing,” she shrugged bashfully. It was a reasonable enough excuse.

“And you do?” Elisif gave her a conspiratorial smile, raising her brows a bit.

“Well… not… exactly…” she flushed, hoping she would not have to elaborate on the reason for her presence here again. It would be really strange to claim to be there to gain some allies against the dragon and not mention _that_ to the High Queen.

Elisif only chuckled kindly in response, leaning a bit closer to her, whispering: “Truth be told, neither do I… but… we do what we can for the good of the people, right?”

Aeyrin nodded sympathetically. At least she didn’t have to do this all the time. The queen must have had to suffer through these events much more often.

“Whenever you come back to the city, lady Aeyrin, I’d be happy if we talked more. I understand that the war preoccupies many of my peoples’ minds, but there are still other dangers, other troubles. It pains me that they are overlooked for the ambition of power-hungry men. And it warms my heart to hear rumors of those that strive to help in these difficult times,” she gave her an elegant curtsy, her kind smile forcing Aeyrin to reciprocate the expression.

“My dearest guests, I apologize for the unpleasant disruption to the festivities,” Elenwen suddenly interrupted all the conversation in the room. “Please, if you would excuse the abrupt ending, there are important matters I need to attend to. My guards will escort you to the carriages.”

…

“How… fucking… farther…”

Etienne huffed in effort. The numbing effects of the potion were subsiding and sharp pain was coursing through his entire body.

“…donno…” Bishop’s eyes were closed already, the burning seemed to seep all the energy from him. He was splayed on a wooden wheelbarrow unceremoniously with Etienne’s strained breaths echoing from behind him.

“…sle…” Bishop tried to speak. He was so tired, his muscles were still spasming now and then and it made him all the more exhausted.

“What?”

“Whistle…” he managed to get the word out finally. Karnwyr would come to investigate, Bishop knew he would. He just hoped he wasn’t too far away.

Etienne was silent for a while, likely thinking over Bishop’s lucidity. He let out a deep breath and straightened his back, letting the wheelbarrow thud on the ground. He sorely needed a break.

A loud whistle sounded from him in a few seconds, echoing across the sea and towards the Solitude docks.

There was no more energy left in him. He slumped to the ground, his chest heaving as he positioned himself next to the wheelbarrow, looking up at the barely conscious man in it.

“End… of the… road… mate…”

Etienne closed his eyes… only for a minute.

He just needed some rest.

They’d continue on right after.

Only a minute.


	71. Help

“He should really be here by now…”

Aeyrin paced around the mill, her feet tired from the shoes and her whole body freezing in the dress, even with the cloak on.

Bishop still wasn’t there, they’ve been waiting for over an hour.

“I swear if he talks…” Delphine grumbled, her arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the runner.

“You’re just full of compassion and sympathy, aren’t you?” Aeyrin sneered at her. Her only comments regarded the regret over the loss of the potential information and how much danger _she_ was in. It was grating on her nerves.

“I’m being practical. The dragons are the bigger issue. We need the information and we cannot have the Thalmor at our back,” Delphine huffed defensively, shaking her head at her.

Yeah right… she was just afraid for her own skin.

Finally, Aeyrin heard the fast patter of paws and the familiar pants. Karnwyr – he must have joined Bishop on the way back.

She left the shadows of the mill, eager to see them both again.

As she stepped out into the empty moonlit yard, she was greeted by the wolf instantly. But the ranger was nowhere in sight.

Karnwyr let out a loud bark, his face full of panic as he jumped around her frantically.

“What happened? Where’s Bishop?” her heart started pounding. Something was definitely wrong.

The wolf barked, running off in the direction of the docks.

She needed to go after him.

…

“Bishop!”

She broke into a fierce run the second she saw him, the pain in her feet forgotten entirely.

He was set inside a wheelbarrow, unmoving, and there was a strange Breton man sitting by him, looking rather shocked.

She knelt by Bishop the second she reached him, looking him over frantically, in panic. There was no visible blood… what happened?

“Who are you?! Are you with _them_?!” Delphine’s voice echoed from behind Aeyrin and she noticed her draw her dagger at the Breton on the ground.

“Delphine, for Gods’ sake!” Aeyrin yelled, turning to the man in a second with a desperate look in her eyes. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?”

“Shock… spell… nasty one… think… he’s burned bad…” the man looked exhausted and every breath he took was labored. He was only wearing some old rags and all the bared parts of his skin were covered in cuts and burns.

Aeyrin didn’t pay much attention to him, though, quickly undoing the clasps of Bishop’s armor, while the wolf watched her with a perpetual low whine.

“Shock spell? The Thalmor saw him?!” Delphine yelled out in anger, still clutching her dagger, but luckily not menacing the Breton with it anymore. That poor man could barely speak, even if he was an enemy, she hardly needed to go to such measures.

“Don’t… think so… He came… alone… then the justiciar… he’s dead… but the spell… hit…” his voice was sounding more and more strained.

“Delphine, potions!” Aeyrin commanded as she finally managed to open Bishop’s armor, finding his tunic sticking to his skin, hints of singed flesh visible under the damp white fabric.

“Stop saying my name!” Delphine cried out angrily again, earning a furious look from Aeyrin. She was driving her insane with the paranoia!

At last Delphine handed her a few healing potions from her pack. Aeyrin passed one to the man beside her hastily, then slapped Bishop’s face around lightly, trying to get him to react. When he didn’t, she uncovered his tunic slowly and very carefully. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the nasty burns all over his chest in an instant. It looked much worse than she feared.

Mustering her strength, she laid her hands just above his skin to heal his burns the best she could.

It wouldn’t be enough, her restoration skills were never enough against magical wounds. She needed to get him into a temple, but first, she needed to do the best she could so that he wouldn’t die on the way.

“Thank you…” the man beside her sighed out in relief, moving closer to the wheelbarrow. He took one of the potions and tilted Bishop’s head while she tried to heal the worst of his wounds.

“I’m Etienne. I was being… held by the Thalmor. Bishop released me, from their… torture rooms, but then… the justiciar. We made it this far… then he passed out. But before, he told me to whistle. I thought he was fucking delirious,” he chuckled a bit incredulously, slowly pouring some of the liquid into Bishop’s mouth, careful to test his reflexes without drowning him. “I tried… then the wolf shows up, tries to wake him and runs off again. And now you’re here… you can’t make this shit up…” his laugh got a bit desperate, the man was obviously strained by the ordeal.

“Why would you drag a stranger this far? What’s in it for you? If you think this garners any trust…” Delphine piped up again, making Aeyrin’s blood boil. Couldn’t she just communicate without angry barks and threats? Was that so hard?

“He’s not a stranger,” Etienne shrugged, not elaborating any further. He knew him? What would Bishop have in common with a Thalmor prisoner? And why was the man held by them? Not like it mattered much, she needed to help Bishop right now. Everything else could wait.

As her hands fell away, the magic dissipating, Bishop finally responded to Etienne’s slow attempts to make him drink. He coughed violently, spitting out the potion, but when Etienne pressed the bottle against his mouth again, he was lucid enough to swallow.

“Bishop?” she placed her hand on his cheek with a worried expression, trying to see if he was conscious.

His eyes slid slightly open – he could hardly see anything like that, but she could have sworn that a small smile tugged his lips.

“Here, one more,” Etienne handed her another potion and she leaned it towards him gently. This time Bishop managed to drink up somewhat steadily, some color returning to his face.

She turned to Etienne as Bishop roused himself slowly, looking over the Breton’s wounds.

“I can help with some of these until we get to the temple,” she nodded at him.

“Thanks… they’re not too bad… there’s just… a lot…” he sighed in relief as she got to work. It didn’t take long, as most of the cuts were shallow, but the burns were beyond her ken. But with the potion in his system, the man would be fine enough to get to the temple for some rest and recuperation.

She felt a light brush of fingers on her arm when she finished healing Etienne, turning around to see Bishop watching her with half-lidded eyes.

“Bish… how are you feeling?” she returned her hand to stoke over his cheek right away, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Jus’… great… ‘ncess…” he let out the words in strained effort, swallowing parts of them.

“I’ll get you to the temple soon…” she planted a comforting kiss on his cheek, her hand still stroking over the other.

“Do you have the evidence?” Delphine approached them quickly as soon as Bishop regained some consciousness.

“Are you fucking serious?!!!” Aeyrin flipped suddenly, tearing herself away from Bishop and standing to face the woman. “Are you really that callous?! You don’t think your damn evidence can wait one second so he doesn’t die because of _your_ stupid plan?!”

“You know why we do this! And stop talking about it in front of strangers!” Delphine hissed at her through gritted teeth, getting equally angry and frustrated.

“Only reason we did this was to humor your paranoia!” Aeyrin yelled at her again, until she was interrupted by Bishop’s strained chuckle.

“Why are you laughing?” she threw her hands in exasperation.

“Look… good… angry…” his lips quirked up in tired amusement, making Aeyrin pinch the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

“Armor…” he mumbled after another brief strained chuckle. Aeyrin creased her brows – she knew what he meant. She was, however, very reluctant to give Delphine what she wanted after how she behaved. Then again, at least it would get rid of her. She couldn’t look at her face anymore, hidden as it was under the hood.

Aeyrin crouched down by Bishop again, carefully uncovering more of his armor, palming tentatively around the insides to find any hidden documents in the inside pockets. She wondered if the idea for those came from his time with the Guild – they were perfect for stealing and smuggling.

“Here’s your precious evidence! Now if you’re not actually gonna help, leave!” Aeyrin threw the numerous papers and books after Delphine gradually, making her pick up every piece in frantic panic before the wind could carry anything away.

She stared at the documents for a while in silence, then looked back at them with a regretful shake of her head.

“Aeyrin… I’m sorry. I cannot show myself in Solitude… if someone recognized me… never mind. For what it’s worth… I hope he’s alright,” she gave out a deep sigh.

“Just go!” Aeyrin yelled again, setting herself behind the wheelbarrow and helping Etienne up to his feet.

“I… I’ll go through the papers… just… please meet me back… you know, where we met yesterday. Meet me there tomorrow.”

Her voice was so grating to Aeyrin right then. She was certain that there would be nothing of use in those papers. _Then_ she’d let that insane woman have it…

She nodded determinedly at Etienne as they headed forth together, along with the pitifully whining wolf and the rickety wheelbarrow carrying Bishop, towards the city, leaving the cloaked woman behind.

…

“What do you mean?”

Her frame buckled slightly under Bishop’s weight as her eyes widened in both surprise and despair.

The wheelbarrow gave out right in front of the city gates – it was an old rotten thing, but at least it helped her get him up the hill in front of the city.

Bishop luckily stayed somewhat conscious, but he was not strong enough to walk or hold himself up. Etienne helped her support him for a time, but soon enough his own exhaustion got the better of him and he was lucky to be able to walk on his own.

Etienne told Aeyrin only that he and Bishop used to ‘run in the same circles’, upon which she immediately asked if he was with the Guild. Relieved not to have to hide the information from her, he told her that the Thalmor had ambushed him after a job near Markarth and the next thing he knew, he’d woken up in the torture room. They had asked him about someone who was supposed to be hiding in Riften, but he didn’t have the information they wanted.

At last, they made it to the temple with a lot of difficulty, but their progress was halted again.

“I’m sorry, child, but a large group of soldiers was just brought here, their lives are in danger, I’m sure you understand,” the priestess gave her a sympathetic smile.

“So is his! It can’t wait! He needs proper healing!” she implored the woman pleadingly, her thoughts swirling in panic, thinking of how to convince her. Bishop stayed conscious with the potion in his system, but his burns were bad and she knew how much damage shock magic did to a person’s organs. If he didn’t get help soon, who knew what could happen to him? He was already even more strained from the journey.

“I’m sorry. All our healers are tending to the urgent cases. You will either have to wait, or…” she didn’t finish the sentence, her brows creasing a bit as she looked over the half-limp man leaning against her drowsily.

The woman turned on her heel, returning towards the infirmary before Aeyrin could protest further.

What was she to do now? She has _never_ met with such blatant disregard in a temple!

Casavir was right, war made people callous.

Oh!

Casavir!

“Etienne, I need to… get him somewhere else. Are you…” she looked him over worriedly as he leaned against the wall, resting his head on the cold stone.

“I’ll be alright. I just… need rest. I have contacts here… they’ll pay for my healing. When the priests have time…” he gave her a weak smile, nodding at her reassuringly.

She returned his smile, but then remembered something that plagued her mind occasionally during their return trip to the city.

“Etienne… could you, please,… not mention that you saw us…?” she gave him an uncertain look, readjusting herself slightly under Bishop’s weight. If Mercer found out that they went to rob the Thalmor Embassy of its secrets, he would surely use it to blackmail them again. She didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

“Uh… sure… if you want. No one needs to know who… actually got me out…” Etienne shrugged briefly, slumping a bit more along the wall.

“Thank you. And take care of yourself,” she gave him a grateful smile and started to drag Bishop out of the temple.

If even Casavir wouldn’t agree to help…

She was running out of options.

…

She spotted him across the yard.

Good, he could help her drag Bishop into the Castle – she was getting more and more exhausted by the second.

He was discussing something with the two soldiers guarding the Castle entrance. It was a good thing his armor was so shiny – she noticed him immediately.

“Casavir!” she called out, her knees buckling again, as if they were eager to rest already at the prospect of upcoming help.

She could have sworn she saw the scowl all across the yard.

It didn’t matter, Bishop needed help and he had to provide it. It may have been calculating of her to abuse his vows for something he wouldn’t want to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“My lady… what… happened?” he looked both of them over with furrowed brows, studying Bishop with narrowed eyes for a long while, as if to determine whether he was faking.

Bishop mumbled something, but was too weak to articulate anymore. He was likely gonna complain anyways. That wouldn’t have been helpful.

“Is he inebriated again?” Casavir raised his brow disapprovingly.

“No! He’s wounded! Casavir, please, I need your help,” she gave him a hopeful look, ignoring Bishop’s protesting groan.

Casavir looked at her for what seemed like a long time, before he sighed in resignation.

“I will help you get him to the temple, my lady,” he nodded. He even looked a little proud of himself… Gods… just how much more petty could their spat get?

“They wouldn’t heal him at the temple. They said that the healers are busy with soldiers. I need _you_ to heal him!” she looked at him expectantly, a plea in her eyes.

Casavir’s brows furrowed even further as he was palpably waging an internal war. He stared at Bishop with a worried expression, the hint of searing hatred still visible in the glint in his blue eyes.

“Casavir! He’s wounded! You have to help him! You… _we_ help those in need,” her eyes stung with tears at her exasperation. She couldn’t believe she actually had to convince him this much. And the priest at the temple… It was all so disheartening.

“You are determined to test my convictions, my lady…” he almost whispered the words, his head dipping low.

“Allow me,” he finally nodded, draping Bishop’s free arm over his shoulder, somewhat more roughly than necessary, and taking him away from Aeyrin’s grasp.

…

She watched his hands work with fascination.

His healing capabilities were even more impressive than she thought. She always assumed that the paladins were concentrating more on their combat training, but his magic was on par with any experienced priest.

Maybe he could teach her some of the more elaborate spells and techniques. It would make their journeys so much easier.

“Ehm… you look very beautiful, my lady,” he cleared his throat a bit uncomfortably, his eyes darting over to her briefly.

She blushed instantly. It seemed a strange and out-of-place thing to mention right then. But in a minute, she remembered she was still dressed in the clothes for the party.

“Oh… the dress… thank you. I even forgot I was still wearing it for a second,” she smiled a little, her blush deepening when she noticed him look at her again.

There seemed to be a strange tension to the room as he said that. Maybe because Bishop was right there, half-conscious on the paladin’s bed and in no condition to make some snide comment or angry insult.

“It’s only… surprising. N-not the fact that you look beautiful! Just… the dress. I thought you wouldn’t enjoy any other event that required such outfit. Considering…” he stammered a bit awkwardly, giving her a small smile after.

Dammit. She couldn’t let Casavir know what they were up to! He was kind of in the employ of the Empire. She had no idea how much he associated with the Thalmor. Then again… she _was_ there publicly. It was only Bishop who wasn’t supposed to be there. There was that strange paranoia about the whole event again.

Maybe the Thalmor brought it out in people.

“I was invited to the Thalmor ambassador’s gathering,” she explained curtly.

Casavir suddenly stopped his ministrations, looking over the gradually healing burns on Bishop’s chest with a deep scowl, then back at her with a suspicious look.

“He wasn’t with me… he got wounded in the wilderness. Karnwyr led me to him when I left the event,” she explained again. It surprised her how convincingly she said that. Then again, it was mostly true.

“Those are… severe magical burns…” Casavir raised his brow at her, the doubt on his face palpable. Everyone knew what powerful magic the Thalmor justiciars were capable of.

“…” she paused for a bit, racking her brain as fast as she could.

“Hagraven!” she almost yelled out. She remembered the last time Bishop got wounded by magic beyond her healing abilities. That was ages ago…

“Hagraven? Here, up north?” Casavir frowned at her deeply.

Did those things not live up north? Dammit. How was she supposed to know that?

“T-that’s what he said… maybe… maybe he was making a joke? I-I don’t know…” she stammered nervously. It would be better to leave the lying to someone more capable of it. Bishop would think of an excuse when he was up to it.

Casavir shook his head briefly before returning to his work, watching the burns slowly disappear from Bishop’s body.

“As much as it irks me to say this, my lady, he will not be able to move much until he rests. It… would be likely best if he stayed here,” Casavir sighed deeply, likely horrified at the prospect of Bishop staying in his room.

“Could I… could I stay here with him?” she gave him an uncertain expression. She wasn’t exactly gonna let him deter her, but she knew she was already straining his tolerance of the situation.

“If… you insist…” he sighed, his brows furrowing again. “At least you would be able to prevent him from snooping around when he wakes…” a small smile tugged at his lips, as if he just figured out some master plan of Bishop’s. To be fair, it _did_ sound like something Bishop would do, just to piss the paladin off.

“I promise. And we’ll be out of your hair as soon as he’s well enough to move,” she gave him a grateful smile.

“I will check on him in the morning. And I’ll be interested to hear from him how he really got wounded,” Casavir scowled yet again, nodding at her.

Well, Bishop would surely come up with something.

Or just make Casavir too frustrated to prolong any conversation with him.

That always seemed to work.


	72. The Information

“Come on! Let’s fuck on the tin-head’s bed!”

Bishop laughed heartily pulling her closer to him. He woke up at sundown as if nothing happened the previous night, good as new. Casavir’s magic was really impressive. And she really wasn’t going to repay him by probably scarring him for life.

“Absolutely not! I think he’d really kill you for that…” she smirked at him, stretching along his form languidly.

“Yeah… he could _try…_ And you _did_ promise me the… incentive…” he winked at her, running his eyes over the slightly crumpled dress. She kept it on – it seemed weird to undress in the paladin’s bed, no matter who she was sharing it with. Besides, Casavir could have come back any minute.

“Are you sure you’re alright? The wounds were…” she creased her brows, stroking her fingers lightly over his torso, the signs of the burns completely gone now, but she knew that damage from shock magic was not always visible.

“I’m fine, princess. At least the tin-head’s good for something…” he grumbled, looking over the room with a scowl. “Hmm… I wonder what he’s hiding in here… I bet he’s got some creepy skeletons in his closet,” he gave her a sly wink, slowly sitting up on the bed.

He was met with a firm push, shoving him back to lie down. “Nope! I’m supposed to make sure you don’t snoop,” she giggled at him, her hand holding him down to the bed steadily.

“What? He asked you to do that? That’s suspicious, ladyship! That’s all the more reason to snoop!” Bishop smirked at her knowingly, looking over the various chests and cupboards around the room with narrowed eyes.

“No snooping!” she giggled at him again. What would he even want to find? And why? Did he think to expose Casavir for something? All he always accused him of was that he was a liar – breaking his vows, sleeping with Elisie. What did he think he would find that would prove him right?

“Fine, but I want compensation,” he grinned at her, grabbing her by the arm splayed across his torso and moving her closer up on his chest, half her body covering his as he captured her lips in a deep kiss, his hands circling her back and groping at her backside.

She hummed approvingly for a while when her mouth was covered by his before moving away from him, patting his cheek lightly. “Later… we should probably go… we’ve imposed on Casavir more than enough,” she smiled slightly. She was surprised that Bishop wasn’t more eager to get away from the Castle, but he was probably enjoying the unwanted intrusion in some twisted sense.

“Like I care…” he scoffed while she raised herself from the bed at last.

“You should be grateful to him. He saved your life,” she said carefully. Their animosity was completely unnecessary, at least from what she’s gathered. She still didn’t have the whole story, but what happened with Elisie appeared to be the tipping point for all this hatred.

“Yeah right! He did that for _you_ , princess. Probably hoping it would raise his chances to get between your pretty legs,” he scoffed at her, giving her a look that reminded her of someone lecturing a child. She hated when he did that. Not everyone had sex as their sole goal in life… it wasn’t naivety! Despite the briefness of their acquaintance, she knew Casavir better than Bishop did, she was sure of it.

“You’re hopeless…” she shook her head, her point interrupted by sudden opening of the door.

“My lady,” Casavir nodded in greeting, pointedly not including Bishop in it.

“Don’t you knock? What if we were naked?” Bishop smirked at him maliciously, getting himself up from the bed too.

“Bishop! Definitely no chance of _that_ happening…” Aeyrin flushed and threw him an admonishing look. “He’s feeling better now, Casavir. A little too much, perhaps… We’ll be out of your hair in a second.”

“Of course, my lady. I’m glad,” Casavir nodded with a nondescript expression. She wondered briefly if he was glad that Bishop was feeling better, or because they were leaving, but it was obvious that it was the latter.

“I really can’t thank you enough for what you did, Casavir,” she gave him a grateful smile, earning one in return.

“It _is_ my duty, my lady. But I am still very curious about the source of those wounds,” he threw a threatening look at Bishop, focusing his attention on him at last.

“Magic,” Bishop smirked again, gesturing with his hands mockingly as if casting an imaginary spell.

“I’d suggest you get more cooperative, Bishop, lest I decide to investigate myself,” Casavir scowled at him fiercely, taking a few determined steps towards him in warning.

“Go ‘investigate yourself’ somewhere far from me, tin-head. And far from _her_ for that matter,” Bishop snorted derisively. “But if it will shut you up, fine… whatever. I was attacked by a necromancer in the wilderness,” he folded his arms across his chest, giving the paladin a challenging look.

Dammit, necromancer, that was definitely better.

“Lady Aeyrin said you told her it was a hagraven,” Casavir raised his brow at him in suspicion.

Bishop’s eyes darted to her briefly, a hint of surprise on his face before he smirked again. “Yeah. I was teasing her. She hates those things. Gets creeped out by them,” he shrugged noncommittally.

“So you were barely conscious and made time to lie, in order to ‘tease her’?” Casavir was clearly not convinced, studying Bishop for any tells diligently.

“It’s called dedication,” Bishop smirked again. “And I was pretty conscious, had a potion. It wore off before we got to Solitude. Any other pointless questions, tin-head?”

Casavir watched him with furrowed brows for quite some time, but it became obvious that he didn’t actually have anything specific to accuse him of. He turned back to Aeyrin with a sigh, making a point to Bishop again.

“I will be returning to my duties, my lady. If you have any need of me, I should be around the Castle,” he smiled at her kindly.

“Yes… I think we’ll actually be leaving Solitude in a little while, Casavir. But I hope we run into each other again soon.”

His face seemed somewhat crestfallen, but he didn’t maintain the expression for long, his eyes darting briefly towards Bishop again.

“I see. I hope so too, my lady. Please, be careful on your journeys,” he nodded amicably, but she noticed another covert look towards Bishop after his words. It was clear he wanted to plead with her to be careful around him too, but decided not to make the conversation heated again.

“You too. And thank you for… everything, really,” she gave Casavir a brief friendly hug, making his eyes shoot up in surprise. Bishop’s expression of annoyance was palpable even without looking at him, but luckily, he didn’t comment.

“Y-yes… no trouble, my lady,” Casavir cleared his throat. She could have sworn she saw a faint blush on his face. He turned on his heel briskly, as if to hide his seemingly flustered state, walking back towards the door with quick steps.

He left the room and Aeyrin turned back to Bishop.

He gave her a questioning look, but she was hardly going to justify herself for an expression of friendship.

He only sighed after a while, giving her a mocking smirk: “Hagraven?”

“I don’t know! It was the first thing I thought of! How was I supposed to know those things aren’t everywhere?” she threw up her hands with a bashful shrug.

“It’s fine… I doubt that the Thalmor will let anyone know that someone managed to steal from them. He’s got nothing,” Bishop smirked confidently.

“Come on, we should get back to the Skeever before Corpulus decides to pawn our shit.”

…

“So… do you two make it a habit to disappear right after your rent runs out, leaving your shit all over the room? ‘Cause that’s not really smart, you know?” Corpulus smirked from behind the bar, calling at them from across the crowded room.

“We’re really sorry…” Aeyrin gave him an apologetic smile, approaching the bar.

“Well, don’t worry about it, lass, looks like you have plenty more fancy trinkets to pay me with,” he smirked at the new set of jewelry, eliciting a groan from her. It felt wrong pawning the things that someone else bought for her, but what else could they do? At least she suspected that Delphine wouldn’t care about that stuff. Selling the bracelet from Casavir made her feel much guiltier.

She took off a silver amethyst ring with a sigh, handing it to Corpulus. “Last night,” she added with a determined nod.

“If you’re not out by morning, I’m taking one of your armors,” Corpulus smirked at her mischievously, making them both flinch in discomfort.

“A courier was looking for you, by the way. Here,” Corpulus called out for them before they headed away from the bar. He passed a small folded note their way.

There was no insignia and it was only a very tiny piece of parchment. Aeyrin unfolded it curiously.

.

_Meet me at the Honningbrew Meadery._

_We need help._

_R._

_._

She passed the message to Bishop, who furrowed his brows at it. It didn’t say when to meet ‘R.’, or anything useful, really. They assumed that the mysterious ‘R.’ was in fact Raven, but they had no way of knowing. From what they heard during their last hours at the Guild, it sounded like he was dead. At the very least, he surely didn’t escape scot-free.

“We should check that out,” Bishop nodded, surprisingly compliant with a dubious letter.

“You’re awfully… not paranoid…” she smirked at him. She knew he was curious due to the contents of the last letter. It suggested that there was a way to take Mercer down. Bishop seemed all too eager at that prospect. Then again, given his track-record, it was hardly surprising. Raven _did_ mention that Bishop was prone to rebellion while he was under Mercer’s thumb.

“It’s a meadery. Hardly a good place for an ambush,” he shrugged, unconcerned, but his reasons were already too obvious to her.

She gave him a knowing smirk, but he decided to disregard it instead, looking somewhat wistfully towards the hallway leading up to the rooms.

“Let’s go, we still have time before we meet with crazy again, I wanna make the best of it,” he gave her a sly wink, ushering her along upstairs.

…

“There you are.”

Delphine seemed somewhat relieved when she saw them back at the mill. Maybe she finally had some time to think about how she behaved.

“I’m… glad you’re alright, Bishop,” she sighed, nodding lightly.

“Yeah right… did you find something?” he scoffed at her derisively, dismissing her undoubtedly feigned concern. He was convinced that there was nothing useful in those papers and that the whole ordeal would turn out pointless.

“I _did_ , actually,” she retorted, insulted. “The Thalmor know no more about the resurgence of the beasts than we do, but they _are_ watching us. There are dossiers on each of us. But that’s not all… there was a dossier on an… ally,” she smiled victoriously, holing up five little books.

“Wait… what do you mean, dossiers? What’s in these?” Bishop’s brows shot up. The Thalmor had information on all of them? Even him? Where would they get information on him? And what information? Was it possible that they knew who he was? Casavir knew, he could have talked. And what about the bounty?

Fuck, this was bad.

“Later. What’s more important is the ally I mentioned,” Delphine brushed him off immediately.

Fuck… he needed to know. And he needed to see his dossier before Aeyrin did. Then again… Delphine already read it. Maybe there was nothing. Or maybe she was just acting inconspicuous. Fuck, this wasn’t helpful. He needed to seem casual. Like he had nothing to hide.

“An old associate of mine, Esbern. He is a Blade, like me. He was the lore-keeper, a chronicler. If anyone has any information that we can use, it would be him,” she smiled excitedly, clutching one of the little books in her hand, presenting it like a precious treasure.

“Delphine… that’s actually really great news!” Aeyrin gasped. She still felt angry about yesterday’s events, but this… that was exactly what she needed – information, lore, ancient secrets.

“I told you it was worth it!” she raised her voice at her, the tension about previous events still somewhat present in the air. “Anyway… there’s a problem. He’s in hiding. The Thalmor have been searching for him and he knows this. Their last records of him were around Riften and then… he disappeared,” she sighed, shaking her head with a worried look in her face.

“I know where he is,” Bishop piped up, eager to get back to the topic of the dossiers.

The two women looked at him with a shocked expression, understandably weirded out by his certainty.

“Etienne said the Thalmor took him because they were looking for someone hiding in Riften, right? The Guild does that sometimes. Hide people. If you’re willing to pay, they offer sanctuary… from the law… from… well mostly anyone…” he trailed of a bit, remembering the events long past. The sanctuary was definitely not earned without paying and in the end… it was all for nothing. But unless that Esbern guy was hiding from one of Mercer’s associates, his circumstances would hardly be as dire as Bishop and Jules’s were.

“The warrens are not just a prison. It’s a perfect place if someone wants to disappear,” he turned to Aeyrin, nodding at her knowingly.

“You’re saying we had this person right under our noses for days?” she chuckled a bit at the irony, but her brows creased in worry. Talking to that man would mean a favor from the Guild…

“That’s… amazing! So all you need to do is go to these… warrens and take Esbern back to Riverwood. Then we can…” Delphine started planning excitedly but was all too soon interrupted by Aeyrin’s raised voice.

“No! No way!” she folded her arms across her chest determinedly. “Bishop and I are _not_ doing this. We cannot get indebted to the Guild. _You_ can do this,” she nodded at Delphine, earning a rather pleased and proud smirk from Bishop.

“What? But the Thalmor could be going after him!” Delphine protested, her face conflicted.

“You said they don’t know where he is and Etienne didn’t talk. Even if they tried their luck in the Ratway, they’d have to get through the Guild first. There’s no other way into the warrens. I’ll tell you who to talk to and who to pay. They want nothing from you personally, so the only thing they’ll ask for is money,” Bishop smirked at her, throwing Aeyrin another pleased look. She was starting to get really feisty with Delphine. Good. About time that woman started to take some risks herself, aside from coming up with insane plans that put the two of them in harm’s way. And it was really turning him on when Aeyrin got like that…

Delphine looked both of them over slowly, a bit desperately, but eventually nodded.

“You… you’re right… I should do this myself. Just tell me what to do and I’ll take Esbern somewhere safe. I’ll send you a message when we figure out the next step,” she sighed in resignation.

“Good. First you need to find a man by the northern gates. He’s in full ebony armor – hard to miss. He’s always there. Tell him you need a drink and give him thirty eight septims exactly. It’s a code, obviously, and the only way to get to the Guild without being questioned or locked up by them,” Bishop nodded at her as he explained. “He’ll give you the current password for visitors. Then go to the Ratway and find a metal door. It’s the only one in that place, you’ll find it fine. Give them the password and then ask for…” he paused a bit, thinking on the safest course of action. “Ask for Delvin. Tell him who you’re looking for and pay whatever amount he asks. You better take a lot with you…” he chuckled a bit. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford it, if she could spend a fortune on a fucking dress…

“Do _not_ mention me or Aeyrin to anyone there, understood? And if you see Etienne, for fuck’s sake pretend you’ve never seen him before,”

Delphine nodded determinedly, giving him a slightly uncertain smile.

“Do you need to write it down?” Aeyrin looked at her, almost mockingly. She seemed to be enjoying the fact that it was Delphine getting the orders now.

“I… well… just to be safe…” she grumbled, pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling some notes on it, then showing it to Bishop to check it over.

“Alright. I’ll be in touch then, wish me luck,” Delphine sighed taking a step towards the mill exit.

“The dossiers!” Bishop stopped her immediately, grabbing at her upper arm.

“Right… I made you copies. Here, you can study them whenever,” she handed the stack of little books to Aeyrin but Bishop snatched them immediately, stashing them in his pack.

Aeyrin shot him a surprised and suspicious look, but he only gave her a noncommittal shrug in response.

“I’ll see you later. Take care of yourselves,” Delphine nodded. She didn’t look like she saw something disturbing in Bishop’s dossier. He was likely overly concerned.

“You too Delphine, be careful in Riften,” Aeyrin smiled at the woman as she left the mill, heading somewhere down the road, away from Solitude.

“Well… let’s see them…” she gave Bishop an expectant look.

“Let’s get to the inn, we can look at them later. Hanging around mills at night is suspicious… and creepy.”

…

Bishop tried to get her preoccupied somehow, suggesting she’d go order them dinner, or take a bath, but she seemed to be on to him, insisting that they’d go back to their room to look over the dossiers.

It was hardly surprising, he didn’t really manage to be subtle with this…

“You know, it’s getting kind of… too weird… with the secrecy…” she sighed at him as they entered the room.

He gave her an uncertain look, waiting for her to continue.

“I get not wanting to talk about things, but… you’re getting so nervous… it feels like there’s more to it…” she sighed, remembering how adamantly Casavir insisted that Bishop was basically pure evil. Not that she took _that_ seriously, but she was starting to think that painful memories weren’t the only reason he wasn’t talking about his past.

“I… just… don’t wanna get into it…” he muttered through gritted teeth. How was he supposed to explain it? Yeah, there was more to it! Like her fucking leaving because of all the shit he used to do. Or like her deciding to sympathize and going after his enemies herself. He didn’t know which option was worse.

She could also hate him and go after Thorn anyways. Yep, that one was worse.

“See, you wouldn’t have to, if I just read about it,” she gave him a smirk, but her brows were still creased worriedly.

“Yeah, like you won’t have questions…” he shook his head. It definitely wasn’t his main concern, but it was the only one he could voice. “It’s not like you like to talk about all the shit from your past either,” he folded his arms across his chest, deciding to rather go on the offensive than keep up the excuses.

“Sure, but I’m not actively hiding them from you,” she shook her head at him. He knew he was being too suspicious about it, why act as if it was normal?

“Well, how about we take a little trip to Chorrol instead, then we’ll see who’s on edge there,” he scoffed at her. At least _her_ past wasn’t following her throughout Skyrim.

That was a weak excuse. All that would happen if they went to Chorrol would likely her introducing him excitedly to Master Therien. What did he think she would be hiding there? Well… she _would_ probably want to see if… her father was… alive. And if Ri’zhassa was still around… it would have been good to get rid of that man once and for all. But Bishop by her side would only provide fodder for blackmail or some other sick schemes. That Khajiit wanted to get back at her so badly after their last confrontation… he already knew he could use her father to make her do all those… things… If he decided to use Bishop the same way…

“What are you thinking about, ladyship?” he smirked at her victoriously, interrupting her ponderings.

“Ugh… just… read the damn thing,” she sighed in defeat, shaking her head. She didn’t want to force the issue anyways, but his behavior _was_ getting more and more worrying.

Bishop didn’t hesitate for a second, fishing in his pack for the dossiers. He opened the first page of each, locating the names of their subjects, then snatching the one that carried his.

.

_Name : Bishop, potential family name unknown_

_Status : Asset (not approached), dormant, Emissary Level Approval_

_Description : Male, Nord, late 20s_

_Background : The asset was observed for his close association with Dragonborn. Suspect of ties to Blades, but eventually confirmed to have associated with her before the discovery of her nature – ties to Blades considered unlikely. Background check resulted in confirmed occupation as a local ranger, some vague rumors of a criminal past – unconfirmed, potential material for coercion. No known ties to the Stormcloaks or the Legion._

_Operational Notes: No confirmed ties to the Blades, potential asset, but believed best left dormant until direct contact with the Dragonborn is established. Keep gathering information for future needs of the Dominion._

_._

Well… seemed the Thalmor weren’t really popularly dealt with in the underworld. They knew practically nothing. He passed the dossier to the expectant elf with a wry smile, earning only a scoff from her.

“Lucky you…”

He grabbed another one of the dossiers, finding it a bit more substantial than his. It referred to Delphine and her actions against the Thalmor during the war. Those were kind of impressive. It was hard to believe how fidgety she got around potential danger now. The outcome of the war and the elimination of the remaining Blades must have been quite the blow to her bravado.

He looked over two other dossiers, one showing just how much the Thalmor actually used Ulfric’s rebellion to their advantage, the other mentioning vague rumors of Esbern and their hunt for him. He passed the dossiers to Aeyrin gradually, grabbing the last one.

.

_Name : Aeyrin, potential family name unknown_

_Status : Asset (not approached), dormant, Emissary Level Approval_

_Description : Female, Bosmer, early 20s_

_Background : Known background includes discovery of her nature during a dragon attack near Whiterun, previous knowledge of the fact unconfirmed – presumed nonexistent. Several confirmed killings of dragons. Ties to the attack at Helgen unconfirmed, vague rumors at her presence – reasons unknown. Origin confirmed to be outside Skyrim, no verified ties to Valenwood, no records with Dominion. Rumors of ties to Valenwood dissidents – verify immediately. Rumors of ties to the church of the Eight – potential point of interest for future cooperation. Rumors of ties to the Dark Brotherhood – unreliable sources. No confirmed ties to the Stormcloaks or the Legion._

_Operational Notes: No confirmed ties to the Blades, potential asset, establish contact at earliest convenience. Keep gathering information for future needs of the Dominion, verify rumors._

_._

“Heh… the rumors seem to be getting the better of the Thalmor, they really don’t know shit…” Bishop chuckled, handing her the last dossier.

She furrowed her brows, reading over the documents before putting them down with a sigh.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about the whole… ‘establish contact’ thing. Elenwen already looked like she wanted to use me to go around Skyrim Shouting at Talos worshippers,” she cringed, looking over the books on the table briefly. “Maybe we should… get rid of these? Delphine said they were copies, and if someone finds them with us…”

“Look at you and your criminal mind!” Bishop chuckled at her heartily. “You’re probably right, though… Don’t want to give the tin-head and his ilk any ideas,” he smirked, gathering the books in his arms.

“Done reading?”

She nodded and he stashed the books again, making a mental note to burn them the second they left the city in the morning. Doing that at the inn would have been pretty daft, especially in the evening with so many people around.

“Now… we should really enjoy this room before we have you freezing your ass off in the wilderness again,” he chuckled at her, throwing his pack to the ground and tackling her onto the bed.

They were in for a long night yet.

…

Bishop’s teeth grazed over the sore spot on her neck, his tongue flicking over her skin shortly after.

His fingers kept teasing her, rubbing between her legs while she mewled under his ministrations, giggling lightly when he sucked on her neck again.

“Why… why do you do that… in that same… ahh… same spot?” she chuckled in between her heavy breaths as his fingers entered her, probing her eagerly. She ran her hand along his cock a few times while his mouth still concentrated on her neck. She could feel his lips quirking up at her question, his tongue running over her in a tantalizingly slow motion.

“Hmm… I like that spot…” he smirked against her skin. He didn’t even know the answer to that. But he liked seeing that mark on her neck the next few days. It always reminded him of how it got there. And he couldn’t pretend like it wasn’t somewhat satisfying when some leering lecher noticed it on her.

“That’s… nnhg… that’s it?” she gasped as her started to rub one of his fingers over her clit, her breathing getting even more strained and labored. “N-not… aah… marking… territory…?” she tried to giggle, but his redoubled effort prevented the laugh from lasting very long. His fingers spread apart and curled inside her while he continued to play with her nub.

He smirked again, nipping at her neck pointedly once more before he moved his head upwards whispering into her ear in a low voice: “Well… you _are_ mine.”

A jolt went through her whole body at his words, although it may have had something to do with what he was still doing to her. She couldn’t hold out much longer. He kept whispering something into her ear, but her moans drowned out the actual words.

Her whole body quivered when she reached her peak, heat spreading through her steadily, almost unbearably. Bishop’s fingers got even faster and more insistent as she cried out under him, her hands tightening on his body, one enveloped in his hair, the other squeezing his bicep.

She took a couple of deep breaths while he positioned himself between her legs, lifting them to rest against his chest and teasing her still pulsating entrance with the tip of his hard cock.

“I’m yours?” she chuckled at him breathlessly, instinctively pressing her hips towards him, eager to feel him inside her. Bishop gripped her torso, just below her breasts, keeping her in place while he leaned down, her knees moving towards her body.

He smiled at her, looking into her eyes for a time while he still teased her without thrusting inside. He moved even closer then, eliciting a gasp from her as her body rolled into an even more contorted position. Bishop nipped at her lower lip before gazing at her intently again, his voice alluringly low: “Aren’t you?”

She chuckled again before trying to raise her head to his in that position, her lips brushing over his briefly. “I don’t know… are _you_ mine?” she smirked at him with a teasing look in her eyes. She raised her head up again but he moved his hand to her hair faster than she could manage to kiss him, holding the mass of it in a tight grip and tilting her head back, pressing it into the mattress. He lunged at her neck again, sucking briefly on the already incredibly sore spot once more, before he moved back towards her ear.

His voice was almost a growl: “Completely.”

He drove his cock into her in one fluid motion, her loud moan mixing with his groan of pleasure. He stayed deep inside her, unmoving, as if waiting for something, his hand still entangled in her hair, tilting her head back while the other one supported her leg below her knee, keeping it pressed along her body.

“Well… aah… alright then,” she tried to chuckle again, her heavy breathing interrupting her attempt. He moved his lips to hers, giving her a deep kiss, his tongue probing her for quite a while.

He still didn’t move though, she tried to move against him, too eager to remain still, but the position she was in didn’t leave that much room for her to maneuver as his weight pinned her under him.

“Tell me, sweetness,” his tongue traced a line along her jaw towards her ear. He nipped at her earlobe, moving up along the rim of her ear to tease the tip while she still tried to move her hips against him, somewhat ineffectively.

She returned his advances, tilting her head towards him, her tongue teasing his earlobe briefly, nipping at it before she leaned even closer to whisper into his ear: “I’m yours, Bishop.”

He turned to kiss her instantly, both his arms hooking under her knees as he finally started to move against her in long thrusts, withdrawing almost all the way out of her, leaving only the tip of his cock enveloped by her flesh until he drove himself back into her fully.

She raked her nails into his back, arching her own as much as her position allowed, deep moans escaping her lips with every movement he made. He kept kissing her, muffling the noises she made, as well as making her breathing even more ragged.

His motions got more strained after a while, his mouth moving down to bite into her shoulder while her gasps of pleasure echoed right by his ear.

She moved her hands down his back, still gripping at him firmly every time his cock drove into her, grabbing at his buttocks for a while, nudging him against her along his motions. Her legs were starting to feel numb while they were still propped up by his arms and soon she got the urge to move them, sneaking her hand between their bodies and pushing on his torso.

Bishop obliged her quickly, letting her legs fall away from his arms, grabbing her around her waist and rolling over on the large bed, pulling her along to straddle him.

She started to move against him instantly, impaling herself on his cock while he groaned below her, one of his hands digging into the flesh on her flank, the other traveling upwards to squeeze her bouncing breast as she rode him.

She felt those sweet jolts course through her again as he hit that spot deep inside her. She placed her hand on his, squeezing it against her breast alongside him while high-pitched moans escaped her lips.

His cock twitched inside her and he rose himself to sit up, hugging her tightly while his hand still squeezed her breast. He let out a deep satisfied sigh when she felt the warmth of his release spread through her core, his head falling into the crook of her neck rather limply.

She moved herself against him frantically, eager to find her own release again. He gripped her backside in his free hand, helping her along by pressing her to himself, kneading her flesh firmly.

Soon enough her whole body quivered again, her walls squeezing his softening cock inside her as she hugged him tightly against her.

They panted in each other’s embrace for quite a while before he pulled back from her slightly.

He placed his hand on her cheek, stroking over it and moving the strands of hair sticking to her still flushed face.

The smile he gave her was so affectionate. “Beautiful,” he said quietly with his breath still ragged, his eyes roaming over her bright red cheeks, her content smile, her sparkling black eyes.

He kissed her gently, stroking over her cheek again. Her deep breaths were slowly starting to steady, her chest heaving against him more calmly now.

“Tell me again, princess,” he still stared into her eyes, the back of his other hand stroking over her flank tenderly.

She chuckled at him, leaning closer and capturing his lips in another heated kiss. She looked back into his eyes after a while, her smile just as affectionate as his.

“I’m yours, Bishop.”


	73. Back to the Fray

“Do you really think it’s him?”

Aeyrin shuffled her feet nervously at the entrance to the meadery.

Their journey back south was blessedly uneventful, giving them a chance to leave behind all the politics, conflicts and danger plaguing their stay in Solitude. They even mostly avoided the villages on the way back, only briefly checking on Erik, who has been making some impressive progress as an adventurer. Otherwise they were sleeping in the wilderness, enjoying some more privacy for a change.

Their journey turned all too brief, however, as Bishop was surprisingly overeager to get to the meadery, curious about what their mysterious contact had to say.

“Who else would it be? The letter appeared right after we left the warrens. And the whole cryptic shit about paying the price… that’s just like Raven,” he shrugged, nodding at her resolutely after a while.

They entered the meadery, hands on their weapons, just in case. They were greeted by a man behind a bar, clearly not Raven, who gave them a curious look, his eyes roaming over them.

“You here to see the lad?” he nodded at them.

“I… think so?” Aeyrin shrugged uncertainly. It would have been so much easier if everyone wasn’t so secretive.

“Through that door, then upstairs into the attic room,” the man nodded, getting his attention back to some ledgers on the bar.

They followed his instructions, the tension getting them somewhat excited. The cloak and dagger stuff was pretty fun, when there wasn’t a crazy paranoid Blade involved. Then again, the mention of the ‘attic room’ was pretty suspicious, but it was likely a coincidence.

They reached the room on the upstairs floor, knocking with anticipation.

After a while the door swung open, Raven’s grin greeting them.

It turned into a surprisingly bashful smile as he outstretched his arms at Aeyrin, enveloping her in a brief hug. He seemed… tired and there was an odd hint of sadness in his eyes. Aeyrin returned his hug tentatively, but it was short-lived, as if suddenly he didn’t want to overdo it with his affections.

That was a rather surprising change.

“Raven, I’m glad to see you. I feared…” she sighed, but he interrupted her with an understanding nod. He turned to Bishop, giving him a wry smile and briefly patting him on the back. Bishop narrowed his eyes at him, an unsettling suspicion creeping into him.

“Raven, what happened to you? Bishop overheard the Guild members talking about…” she was interrupted again, by a finger, gently pressed to her lips.

Raven smiled at them conspiratorially, ushering them into the attic room.

They entered the room, looking around – there was a Dunmer woman, sitting by a large table, numerous papers splayed over it as she stood up at the sight of them. She had lithe dark leather armor on, her long black hair tied into a thick braid, draped over her shoulder. Her eyes were mesmerizingly violet, there was a sly smile on her lips, her expression gleaming and enigmatic.

“I am glad you arrived in time. I feared the cryptic messages would have left you too wary to follow them,” her soft voice greeted them, looking them both over.

“Raven informed me about your ordeal with the Guild. And some events past…” she gave a meaningful look to Bishop. “We have determined that you two might be just the people to help us in our efforts against Mercer.”

“Who are you? Why are you going after Mercer?” Bishop questioned her, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion.

“My apologies. My name is Karliah,” she smiled, waiting expectantly instead of continuing. Aeyrin frowned, not sure if that name was supposed to mean anything to her, but Bishop’s brows shot up in realization.

“I’ve… heard of you. You killed the last Guildmaster,” Bishop’s eyes went wide, watching the woman warily.

Karliah gave out a long sad sigh, shaking her head, her eyes lowered to the floor. “I expected this… it is what Mercer wanted the Guild to believe. The truth… the truth is far more complex. But be assured, that it was Mercer, who killed Gallus. I… would have never hurt him,” there was sorrow etched in her eyes, but she chased it away in a second. 

Raven approached the woman, giving her a sympathetic look for a while, but then nodding his head at her encouragingly, pointing to the papers on the table.

“Aye… Raven had something he wanted you two to know…” Karliah looked over the papers, picking up one that looked like a letter.

Aeyrin turned expectantly to Raven, but he gave her a wry smile, shaking his head. What did that mean? Bishop didn’t even spare him a glance though, still looking at Karliah suspiciously.

“Aeyrin, Raven wanted you to know that he’s sorry about the amulet and that you were left in Ravyn’s hands. He tried to appease Mercer after he was taken away, but… Mercer is not easily appeased,” Karliah spoke, looking over the notes on the paper.

Aeyrin looked at her in shock, her eyes trailing back to Raven who only nodded at her with a sweet smile.

“Why isn’t he talking?” she asked quietly, getting a sinking feeling that she already knew. Mercer’s ‘price of freedom’ seemed crueler than she imagined. And who knew if it was the only thing that he did to Raven?

“Raven… was punished for… breaking an agreement with Mercer. He was put in charge of watching you on a condition… and he broke it. Mercer made sure he could not… divulge more secrets… in his own twisted manner,” Karliah gave Raven a sympathetic look, her head shaking in regret.

The words of the Bosmer madman echoed in her head unpleasantly once again. But what was this agreement that they kept talking about? Did she cause this? By coaxing Raven to talk? It wasn’t as if she manipulated him intentionally. She was scared, and he seemed to respond to that, comforting her and telling her more to ease her thoughts. And the amulet was entirely his idea. Still… she couldn’t help but feel guilty for some reason. At the very least, the insinuation seemed to be he lost his tongue. She sorely hoped that was the only punishment, but knowing Mercer’s viciousness… she wasn’t so sure.

“Raven… I’m so sorry…” she gave him a sorrowful look.

Raven shook his head at her, smiling sweetly. He reached out taking her hand and enveloping it in his own, as if trying to comfort _her_ again.

“Raven knew he was breaking the agreement, Aeyrin. This was in no way your fault. Whether he wished to or not, he went against Mercer knowingly,” Karliah gave Raven a compassionate and pleased look, apparently happy to have found an outcast from the Guild.

“If it weren’t you, would’ve been the next one,” Bishop shrugged. The next one? What did that mean? He seemed to know more about this agreement. Why didn’t he tell her before? She asked if he knew what it meant after they left the Guild.

Raven raised one of his hands from hers and made a rude gesture at Bishop, scowling at him disdainfully.

Bishop smirked at him, shrugging again: “What? Would’ve happened sooner or later. Just be glad you got out of there alive.”

Raven threw him another scowl but their exchange got interrupted by Karliah clearing her throat.

“Well… this brings me to you, Bishop. Raven wanted to ask you to… let bygones be bygones. If you agree to help us, you two will need to trust each other, no matter what happened before,” she smiled wryly, looking them both over. Raven didn’t seem all too thrilled about this message now…

“Whatever. It’s not like he can come running to Mercer this time,” Bishop scoffed disinterestedly, a mean grin spreading on his face a second later. “And even if he did, what’s he gonna _say_?”

“Bishop!” Aeyrin gasped at him. That was rather callous, but Raven didn’t seem so fazed. He only shook his head at him, walking back over the table, shuffling the papers there around.

“Aye… if… we’re quite done, let me tell you why we’re all here,” Karliah started to shuffle the papers alongside Raven, putting some of them which included what appeared to plans and blueprints in the forefront.

“Ten years ago, Mercer murdered the previous Guildmaster Gallus and blamed the deed on me. I had to go into hiding, bide my time until his hunt for me stopped. It wasn’t easy. All my contacts were from the Guild, every person I could turn to for help was now one of Mercer’s associates. It took me a long time before Mercer believed I was gone for good and I could find allies again. Allies that were brought down by Mercer, just like I was. Just like Raven was. And… just like you were,” she gave Bishop a meaningful look.

“I have been working for years now on undermining Mercer’s connection to his associates and to the Guild. I have turned every turncoat, every person that Mercer betrayed or sold out, to my cause. After Raven was… released from Mercer’s service, I figured he was the perfect person to help with my plan. We discussed lengthily what happened prior to our meeting and he suggested that you two would be likely willing to help our cause,” she looked them over expectantly.

“You think you can actually turn his associates against him?” Bishop raised his brows at her. There was such intense eagerness in his eyes, it was clear he was beyond intrigued.

“I do. But it will take a lot of work. You already put a little hitch in my plan to get him on Maven Black-Briar’s bad side,” she chuckled lightly.

“What do you mean?” Bishop frowned at her.

“The Goldenglow estate. _I_ was the owner. I was going to keep it from Mercer’s hands until Maven got so frustrated with his lack of success that he’d fall out of her favor. I had everything under control. I knew all of his best peoples’ tricks… not yours though…” her smile seemed a bit impressed.

“Not like I had a choice…” Bishop grumbled at her, folding his arms across his chest.

“Aye, I know. And it was no accusation. I actually found an alternate plan, but more on that later,” she nodded determinedly. “Tell me, then… are you willing to help? To take Mercer down with us? We will not harm the Guild members! We only wish to… steal them from him,” she smiled again, mischievously, giving them a sly wink.

“Yeah,” Bishop didn’t even hesitate. He was so surprisingly trusting of her. He mentioned he’s heard of her, but still, it was likely only that one rumor.

“I… uh… it depends…” Aeyrin cringed a bit. She definitely liked the premise, but what was Karliah going to ask them to do? If it were only preventing Mercer’s schemes, that would have been alright, but what if she asked them to do something else? What if she turned out worse than Mercer?

“We will discuss everything. I’m not about to order you around and threaten you like Mercer would. This is a… cooperation. If you don’t like my plan, I will find someone else to help. Or we’ll figure out something else,” she gave her a reassuring smile, eliciting a slow nod from Aeyrin.

“In time, we will turn _all_ Mercer’s associates against him. And we will make sure that the Guild sees the extent of his corruption and treachery. Things will be able to go back to the old days… like when… like when Gallus was still alive,” she smiled sadly, wistfully.

“Now… Mercer has been continuing with his work for Maven. Now that she has Goldenglow, she decided it’s time to eliminate competition. The largest competitor of course, is the Honningbrew Meadery. That’s why we’re here. We have gained information from one of our associates that there’s a planned sabotage to an upcoming event. The meadery will be hosting several influential guests in introduction of their new mead. It is a homage to the juniper berry mead which used to be made in Helgen. It could make Honningbrew even more popular than the cheap swill that Maven puts out. We know that Mercer will send someone to do something to the mead… poison it in some way. That would make all the investors on the event withdraw their funds. But we can stop this,” she smiled confidently, pointing to one of the plans.

“This is the plan of the building, including the basement and the brewing areas. With all of us here, we could manage to watch the main areas until the Guild acts. We let them, watch them, then we undo the damage. They’ll think they succeeded so they won’t try again. And we will know exactly what they did and be able to fix it before the event. What do you say?”

“That… actually sounds like a good thing to do…” Aeyrin gave her a surprised look.

“We _are_ trying to bring down a despot, not become one,” Karliah creased her brows slightly, looking over at Bishop for his reaction.

“Easy,” he nodded noncommittally.

“Excellent. Aeyrin, I was told you don’t exactly have… the same skillset as us,” she chuckled lightly. “We will have you watch the main place of the event then. We can disguise you as a house-guard. All you will do is watch the room, make sure there’s no member of the Guild you’d recognize and that there’s no one sneaking around. Although I do suspect that they will strike _before_ the event.”

She looked down at the building plan again, pointing to various spots. “Raven will remain here and monitor the side hall from up here. Bishop, I think you’d do well in the tunnels. There are good vantage points here and here. I will be monitoring the brewing areas. The owner of the meadery knows about the threat and our plan to stop his business from failing. He will not get in our way,” she smiled reassuringly.

“I do hope you are rested. The event is tomorrow and the safest course of action would be to start right away, we need to be vigilant through the night.”

…

Waiting an entire day in one place with limited supplies was no easy task.

It must have been almost morning. Still hours and hours to go.

Bishop legs were cramping constantly and his breathing was a bit more labored than he’d like. He was no stranger to lying in wait, but the vantage point was hardly a place to do so. He was squeezed in a small cavernous alcove above the ground, lying there with only enough room to roll around occasionally and move his arms. There was no way that he would be seen though, it was completely dark in there and the sounds of the skeevers below him made enough noise to drown out his breath.

As uncomfortable as this was, he was excited by their new alliance. He kept wondering what Karliah meant when she said they would eliminate Mercer’s connection to _all_ his allies. Did she know about Thorn? She must have. Raven knew about him all too well. He was beside himself when Jules was sent back to him. He even half-expected him to follow, to voluntarily enter Thorn’s employ to be with him. It would have ended badly for Raven. Bishop was surprised that he even lasted this long in the Guild. Mercer was hardly tolerant of his… shortcomings.

He wondered how much he would have to divulge to Aeyrin about Raven and why he was punished. She was curious about their agreement and now she knew that Bishop knew what it was about. It wasn’t hard to figure out, he knew exactly what Frey hated so much about how Raven conducted himself. It must have been the last straw when he asked to be in charge of watching Aeyrin.

His thoughts went back to Thorn and Karliah’s insinuation about taking down Mercer’s network. The only sure way to cut ties with Thorn would be to get rid of his group. Maybe they would manage to get rid of Thorn only and replace him as the bandits’ leader. That wouldn’t work… he had so many loyal to him. But if they somehow managed to take him down… preferably without getting Aeyrin involved…

It was only wishful thinking.

If she had a plan to remove Thorn from the picture, it surely only involved cutting his ties with Mercer.

He couldn’t ask anyways, not without Aeyrin finding out.

Wait… that wasn’t a skeever!

He peered down, the cavern below him lit slightly by a nearby torch.

There was a person sneaking around.

A woman, lithe, a hint of platinum hair peeking from below a black hood.

Vex.

Of course he would send Vex.

He couldn’t afford any mistakes.

He trained his eyes on her, watching her carefully.

She approached the skeever nest, shuffling around the straw, muck and stolen food scrap remains.

She put something in there.

Vex looked around the chamber tentatively. She was careful. Smart. But hardly a threat to him. There was no way she could see him there.

After another thorough look around she snuck onwards, heading towards the tunnel exit.

Bishop waited, watching the skeevers scurry around. None of the little fuckers went close to the nest yet. He needed to see what she did there.

When he was certain she would be far enough, he extracted himself from his hiding place, jumping down deftly, the noise of the impact muffled by the simple silver ring he kept from his infiltration of the embassy.

He approached the nest, scouring it for anything new. There was some new food in there, fresh, likely very tempting for any hungry skeever that would approach. He sniffed one of the apples left behind. It was definitely laced with something. It was possible that it was some food that would make the skeevers go crazy, something that would make them run out of the tunnels, possibly getting back all the way towards the front rooms, or at least make enough noise to be heard. If the investors found out that there were skeevers under the meadery, they would likely withdraw their funds immediately.

Karliah mentioned that the owner of the meadery asked them to get rid of the vermin, but they needed to do that after the Guild’s intervention. If the skeevers were part of Mercer’s plan, the member who did the job might have just come up with an alternative plan and even come back to execute it later, perhaps catching them off guard then.

He removed all the new food carefully, leaving the old scraps so the skeevers wouldn’t go mad from hunger.

Now back to his hiding spot, unfortunately. He needed to stay there until the event was over, just in case.

It would take hours yet.

…

The event was finally over.

The investors were ecstatic with the Honningbrew’s new product; everything seemed to have gone according to plan.

Aeyrin waited for about half hour longer, standing still in the room, acting the obedient house-guard. It was a precaution, in case the thief still lingered.

Finally she headed back towards the attic room.

Raven gave her a kind smile as she entered, removing the full-face helmet covering her. She hated helmets, her whole head was drenched in sweat and her hair stuck uncomfortably to her face.

“Did you see anyone?” she asked Raven curiously, blushing in embarrassment when she started to wonder just how he would answer.

Raven handed her a small parchment with a smile.

.

_Guild member, likely Vex. Early before morning hours. Sneaking through the room without doing anything, heading towards the tunnels._

_._

He must have had that message ready for them.

“Did you see her leave?” she furrowed her brows lightly, but Raven only shook his head, shrugging.

It reminded her of her own inability to speak back in the sewers. But Raven’s situation was so much worse. She knew Mercer was cruel, but this…

The door opened again and Karliah and Bishop entered, chuckling at something, pleased look on both their faces.

They seemed to be bonding over their mutual hatred of Mercer.

“Good, you’re both here. What did you see?” Karliah smiled at them, already seemingly certain of their victory.

“I didn’t see anyone suspicious at all,” Aeyrin shrugged, giving her an uncertain expression. She hoped she did well enough, she wasn’t exactly attentive about this stuff.

“Aye, it’s not surprising. A thief would generally get inside through the window in the small hallway between the chamber you covered and this one,” Karliah smiled at her reassuringly as Raven handed her the note.

She read it aloud, still smiling.

“Vex came to the tunnels then, she left some food in the skeever nest, likely laced to make them freak out or something. I took out the food afterwards. She didn’t return the same way,” Bishop nodded, looking over to Karliah to give her own report.

“She came to the brewing area. She added something to the vat with the new mead. Not to worry, we anticipated this. All the vats were fashioned with safety sacks, anything being poured inside would just end up in them. She left through the window. I removed the sack after I was sure she was gone. She never returned.”

“Sounds like everything worked out,” Aeyrin looked a little surprised. She didn’t remember the last time they actually pulled off some plan without any complication.

“Yep, told you, easy,” Bishop grinned.

“What now?” Aeyrin turned to Karliah.

“Now I will be researching Mercer’s next step as well as Maven’s reaction. Hopefully he will fall out of her favor fast. Maven is his most profitable ally…” she smiled conspiratorially at them, sitting herself behind the large table.

“You two should go rest, but we will be in touch. Once we have our next goal, we may need your assistance again.

Raven clasped Aeyrin’s shoulder with his familiar sweet smile before they left.

She didn’t know why but his touch didn’t feel sleazy anymore. There seemed to be a genuine want for friendship and affection behind his gestures. His easy-going overly sweet face gone. All she could see now was the genuine one, the one she always hoped was real.

It was getting late and they left the meadery exhausted.

There was nothing sounding better to them than a warm bed and Lydia’s cooking.


	74. The Scorned to Scorch the Earth

“So… about that ‘agreement’…”

She broached the subject shortly after they left the meadery, heading towards Whiterun. Karnwyr joined them faster than usual; the day spent alone in the wilderness was apparently plenty of time for him to miss them already.

Bishop sighed slightly, scratching the wolf’s head absentmindedly and mulling over in his head all that he could say not to raise questions that could lead to some of the more… precarious subjects.

“You know how he got around you…” he smirked, giving her a meaningful look.

“I… I just don’t understand what he would agree about… Mercer seemed more upset when he was… nice, not when he was… you know… handsy…” she shrugged in uncertainty. And even if Mercer got upset with Raven getting overly affectionate, why would he care about it? He threatened to have him force himself on her if Bishop failed in his task, for Gods’ sake, why would he care about how she was treated by him in any way?

“Yeah. Well… Raven does this… thing. See, he’s always all smooth-talking, trying to be charming. It’s effective for persuasion and even for intimidation or things like that. Mercer liked to use him as… kind of a spy, I guess. Raven would get any information from anyone. But… that meant, he knew a lot. A lot of things that Mercer would’ve preferred he didn’t,” Bishop smirked in a somewhat pleased manner before continuing.

“One day, Raven was supposed to find this girl who had some information on the Guild. He was supposed to find out what it was, then make sure she didn’t spread it. Anyway, he did his thing, getting to know the girl a bit, talking and shit. Then… he got kinda… head over heels for her. And when he did, he started to tell her things. More things. Things about the Guild. Eventually, his solution was to recruit her. But Mercer was pissed. Still, Raven knew stuff on him, so he let it slide,” Bishop shook his head in amusement.

“Then it happened again… and again. Sometimes it was someone in the Guild, sometimes someone outside. That fucking idiot couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut whenever he liked someone. Frey was so livid. But Raven still must have had some shit on him. Honestly, I can’t believe Mercer didn’t cut out his tongue sooner,” he shook his head with a smirk. He didn’t seem surprised by Raven’s punishment back then. Perhaps Mercer threatened him with just that before.

“Eventually… he told the wrong shit to the wrong person… it… started a small… hmmm… mutiny, I guess… never mind… I don’t know what happened after. But it’s pretty obvious now that there was a condition to having Raven watch you. And when he started to treat you like he did the rest… well Mercer wouldn’t risk him divulging Guild secrets to you,” Bishop shrugged, his amused expression gone at the recollections.

Raven told her about the mutiny… about Bishop’s mutiny. Raven actually started it?

Now she needed to know more.

“He told me about the mutiny… he told me you riled up some of the members against Mercer… and that you got caught… and punished… with some people alongside you. Raven started that?”

Bishop stopped in his tracks, his brows shooting up as he stared at her for a long while, deep frown forming on his face.

“Fucking Raven… He told you that?! Ugh… he’s lucky his tongue’s already gone!” Bishop groaned in annoyance.

“Bishop! Stop making light of it! Besides… that was all he said. There were really no details. Just that he tried to warn you that it would end badly… and that good people got hurt because of it…” she said quietly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Yeah…” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “He… he was charged with extracting information on dissent among the members. Anything bad they said about Mercer, Raven was supposed to find out. By that time he was already… never mind. He told all that he found to… someone. That someone then told it to me…” he paused a bit, looking over the horizon rather than at her.

“I used the information to gain some… allies, I guess. You know the shit Mercer pulls – we were all getting fed up with it… Anyway, then shit happened. Like Raven said, he tried to stop it, but couldn’t. I don’t know if Mercer ever did anything to him… I don’t even know if he knew it was Raven who first spilled the secrets. But anyway… after all that… it’s pretty obvious that he was on thin ice with his… affections,” Bishop shrugged, starting to walk towards the city again, not elaborating further.

“Who was that ‘someone’?” she asked after a while, concentrating on all the things Bishop left out of the story, obviously intentionally.

He scoffed, shaking his head a bit: “Does it matter?”

“I guess not… you just… seemed to avoid it rather pointedly…” she giggled slightly, poking his upper arm with her finger.

“Yeah, ‘cause it fucking pissed me off! He was dragging him into all that shit! Everyone knew that whoever Raven got his eyes on had a large target painted on their backs! It was just so fucking obvious that they would know some shit that Frey didn’t want them to know!” Bishop exclaimed suddenly, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Wait, did he just say ‘him’?

“’Him’?” she looked at him tentatively, gently probing for him to finally divulge the information.

He sighed in defeat, shaking his head: “Yeah… Jules.”

His brother? He said ‘some shit went down’ and he died… did he mean this? Did Mercer kill his brother?

“D-did Mercer…?” she broached the subject carefully, knowing she was prodding into a sensitive territory.

“No… well… not entirely. It was… complicated…” he sighed, turning his eyes back to her in a while, giving her a surprisingly pleading look.

“Princess…”

“Alright… I’m sorry… whenever _you’d_ like to…” she gave him an understanding smile, gently placing herself closer to him, snuggling his form lightly as they walked.

“I know… thanks,” he smiled, draping his arm over her and pulling her close.

…

They arrived into the city exhausted, heading straight for Breezehome.

Lydia was still awake, greeting them excitedly. She was even willing to make them dinner, while they told her about the adventures they got into since they left.

Bishop even excitedly spun a tale about how Aeyrin was trapped at a ball with an evil paladin and how he heroically rescued her from dying of boredom.

Lydia wasn’t buying any of it, but she _was_ rather amused by his storytelling. She did ask Aeyrin for the real version of events afterwards, but the talk of the social struggles and politics obviously bored her.

They spent the night at the house, too tired to engage in any more… excitement, luckily for Aeyrin’s sensibilities with Lydia so close.

In the morning, they realized that they didn’t really have any money left from their time in Solitude since they hurried towards the meadery on their way back, sadly unencumbered by loot as a result. They needed to earn some funds for supplies. Lydia offered to give them money, but Aeyrin promptly refused. The woman just started to earn some of her own, and she was _not_ going to take any from her.

Aeyrin decided to go see if she could perform at The Bannered Mare that night, earning at least some coin. They could visit the Companions the day after for some jobs and… maybe to feast with them for the night. The celebrations at Jorrvaskr were always so lively and they had so much free food and drink. It would be wasteful to pass that up…

They spent the rest of the day before nightfall with Lydia.

Bishop did the cooking for all of them with her help, trying to better his skills again for when they finally got to spend some quality time in the wilderness again.

Evening came soon enough and they headed into the inn to get some coin in their pockets at last.

…

The tavern was very lively that night.

Hulda was rather excited by the prospect of someone else than Mikael entertaining them tonight and the bard hastily excused himself anyways when he saw Bishop.

It elicited an annoyingly self-pleased smirk from him.

Aeyrin agreed to play for at least two hours in exchange for quite a commission. It would definitely be enough for some supplies and then they could pick up some more jobs from the Companions.

Bishop sat himself at their usual table, hiding from the crowd somewhat in the corner while she settled by the bar with her lute, the patrons gathering around her eagerly already.

He wondered if they were curious to hear the Dragonborn sing, or whether they were just relieved to have a change from Mikael. His wailing was awful.

It’s been some time since he’s heard her sing. With all the commotion in Solitude, she never actually got to it and resorted to selling her trinkets instead. Besides, there were different bards singing at the Skeever every night, with the college being so close. Corpulus would hardly be as eager for the change as Hulda was.

He found himself even excited to hear her performance. Her songs were definitely a breath of fresh air from the repetitive Nordic ballads and her voice… damn… the only time her voice was even more beautiful was when she was moaning under him.

She started to sing a song about a ship lost at sea. She probably collected it in Anvil. She told him once about spending four days on a small docked ship there with a crew of only three sisters, listening to their songs and drinking the nights away.

He smiled to himself, watching her get lost in the music. It was weird that she didn’t mind being the center of attention when she performed, since it made her so anxious otherwise. Not that he minded. She was so gorgeous when she was this confident and self-assured. Then again, she looked fucking gorgeous when she was bashful or anxious too.

He watched her intently throughout her performance when a loud slam of the inn door made his eyes dart briefly towards the entrance before returning to Aeyrin.

Wait… did he just see…?

He looked again as inconspicuously as he could.

Fuck, it _was_ her!

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!_

He turned his chair slightly, making sure that it wasn’t pointed right towards Aeyrin, his eyes lowered on his tankard, his expression bored and disinterested.

_Alright, calm down. You knew this could happen eventually. Just act like you didn’t see her._

He kept staring into his tankard stubbornly, hoping she would just leave without noticing him. She was likely just looking for someone. Like she always was. Then again, that meant that she would scour the room. She would definitely notice him.

He draped his hand over his forehead slowly, pretending to look tired in order to hide himself some more. It was likely pointless.

“Well… look who’s here…”

The grating voice made him pretend to snap from his boredom and raise his brows at her in surprise. He needed to act casual. And more importantly, he needed to act like he was there alone.

“The fuck are _you_ doing here, flea?” he snapped, his brows furrowing deeply.

_Don’t show any panic, just keep calm. Fuck…_

“Aaaww… I was hoping for a much warmer welcome. Didn’t you miss me?” Neeshka snickered at him, sitting in the empty chair right beside him, her short leather armor-dress barely reaching the lower part of her thighs as she crossed her legs languidly, leaning forward with a sly wink and pointedly exposed cleavage.

He wondered what Aeyrin was thinking. He couldn’t look at her. Not when Neeshka could see. He needed to wait for an opportunity and then signal her to stay away. He would explain later.

Fuck… how was he _ever_ going to explain?

“So… where have _you_ been hiding?” Neeshka smiled at him sultrily, one outstretched finger running over his bicep in circular motion.

He flinched his arm away from her, giving her a deep scowl.

“Far from your crazy ass,” he scoffed derisively, pointedly not looking at her.

“Don’t be like that! You used to love my ass,” she smirked, leaning even closer to him.

He rolled his eyes. He could still get rid of her before Aeyrin finished her performance. There was still some time for that.

“What do you want from me, flea? I doubt you were here looking for _me,_ ” he scoffed again, folding his arms across his chest stubbornly.

“No. But I already found my target,” she inclined her head back towards the bar, her eyes never leaving him though. “Now I have the rest of the night free! What to do, what to do…” she chuckled.

Wait, did she mean her target’s at the bar?!

Fuck! No… it couldn’t be Aeyrin. He didn’t know about her, right? Unless he just wanted the Dragonborn found… Fuck!!! He needed to find out more.

“What poor fucker’s on your list tonight?” he smirked at her derisively, doing his best to seem hardly interested.

“Pffft. Some whore… who cares?! I was in a mood for some fun now,” she waved her hand dismissively, placing it on his thigh right after, another lascivious smile spreading across her lips.

“You’re looking for whores now? Can’t say I’m surprised… he’s always been shit of getting women himself,” he pried again, still trying to seem casual.

“Ugh… this again. You were always prissy about this shit. I couldn’t care less what he wants with the sand-slut. I just know what I want…” she purred at him, but luckily he finally got his answer. She must have been there for the server then. There were no other Redguard women at the inn that evening.

But what would _he_ want with a barmaid?

It didn’t matter, the important thing was, she wasn’t there for Aeyrin.

“No. Get lost, flea. I’ve had enough of you for a lifetime,” he snarled, turning his head from her pointedly.

“Aaaww, don’t be like that! We used to have sooo much fun together,” she scooted her chair closer to him, leaning forward a little more. He could have sworn he heard Aeyrin’s breath catch in her throat between the words of her song. Fuck… he needed to end this fast. If only it were anyone else…

Neeshka was too fucking unpredictable...

Aeyrin finished one of her songs, the exited clapping and cheers drowning out every other noise in the room. Neeshka raised herself from the chair slightly and leaned her head towards his ear, her breasts pressing against his collar and shoulder as she whispered in a sultry tone: “What’s the holdup? Let’s get out of here already…”

He barely even heard her, his eyes finally free to look at Aeyrin without her noticing.

The look she was giving him…

There was hurt and confusion in her eyes, she raised his brows at him, desperate for an explanation.

He shook his head at her lightly, careful not to alert Neeshka to their communication. He creased his brows deeply, mouthing the words as clearly as he could manage: ‘You don’t know me.’

Aeyrin’s look got even more confused, now laced with worry, but she turned back to the crowd instead, picking up her lute again to start up another tune.

Good. Now to get rid of the annoying flea…

“Well?!” Neeshka fell back into the chair, looking at him expectantly.

“’Well’ what?” he furrowed his brows, still somewhat ignoring her presence so close to him.

“Are we gonna fuck or what?!” she almost yelled that for the whole room to hear.

“Fuck no! Get off me already, flea,” he growled as she kept her hand on his thigh, flinching away from her proximity.

Neeshka’s eyes gleamed with the familiar fire. Her hand returned to his thigh and she sunk her claws in, digging her nails into his skin fiercely, her head leaning close to him again.

“Are you fucking some cheap whore again? Because you know I don’t let _that_ get in my way…” she narrowed her eyes threateningly, studying his face carefully, trying to discern his thoutghs.

“I’m not fucking anyone, I’m just done with you and with _him_. The further away from me you all are, the better,” he sighed in exasperation, his arms still folded across his chest stubbornly.

Neeshka raised her brow at him, and for some reason, she gave him a pleased smirk. She withdrew from him, sitting back in the chair and scooting it away from him, looking over the room instead.

That was… surprisingly… easy…

It made him nervous…

Her eyes darted everywhere over the room, her smile getting more and more disturbing.

“Aaww, are you worried I’m gonna tell Thorn I ran into you?” she smirked mockingly at him, poking his arm briefly.

“Tell him whatever the fuck you want. It’s not like he cares where I go…” Bishop scoffed. Thorn never wanted to get him back, he never wanted to have him killed. He just wanted to torment him…

“True… he always says you’re too much trouble to be worth shit. But he does care about who you’re hanging around…” she gave him a disturbingly menacing wink.

He groaned in annoyance, gesturing at the otherwise empty table.

Neeshka smirked again, reclining in the chair and still looking over the tavern curiously.

There was a long moment of silence in which he prayed she would leave already, but she obviously had different plans.

It felt like she’s been at his table for so long… Aeyrin’s performance was almost over. Fuck he needed to end this somehow. Maybe he should just leave. She’d follow, but at least she’d be away from…

“That slut keeps looking at you when she thinks no one can see,” she laughed, interrupting his thoughts and again inclining her head back towards the bar.

“What slut?” Bishop shrugged disinterestedly, taking a swig from his tankard.

“The tree-sap squawking by the bar. You don’t know her?” she peered at him curiously, her eyes intently fastened on his.

He looked at Aeyrin briefly to appear to only just notice her.

“Never seen her,” he shrugged feigning disinterest again, turning his attention back to his drink.

“Good. Then I’m sure you won’t care if I mention her. She’s just boss’s type…” she laughed, making him almost spatter the drink as she got up from the table rapidly, turning on her heel and heading towards the exit.

What the fuck?! Since when did she report on some random girls in taverns?

She must have known…

_Fuck!_

He got up, following her, grabbing her by the arm just before she escaped the crowded tavern.

“Ow! What the fuck are you doing? I thought you didn’t know the knife-eat slut,” she smirked at him victoriously.

“Since when are you fucking targeting random strangers?” he growled at her, clutching her upper arm hard in his grip, making sure she didn’t escape him.

He noticed Aeyrin ended her performance and now nervously talked to Hulda. He knew she was probably just hoping to leave, but now he and Neeshka were blocking the exit and he could feel her anxious eyes on them every now and then.

_Fuck, sweetness, stop looking at me…_

“Random? I don’t think she’s random at all…” Neeshka gave him a malicious smirk, stepping closer to him, purring in his ear. “Don’t you remember Thorn’s promise to you, Bishop? I’m only following orders…” the hand that wasn’t trapped by him was placed on his chest, her fingers dancing over him teasingly.

It was pointless to fight her on this. Even if it weren’t true, she got it into her head already…

“Let’s… let’s just get out of here…” he whispered to her, eliciting a pleased purr out of her again.

His eyes darted to Aeyrin briefly again… she was paying for something at the bar and then hurriedly leaving towards the rooms. She obviously couldn’t stand to be there anymore and she didn’t want to go past them. Well… at least it gave him some room to maneuver. His eyes returned to Neeshka, as he gave her an expectant look.

“Hmmmm…. so tempting…” she bit her lower lip, the bright red lipstick staining her tooth slightly. “But…” she poked her finger into his chest again, a mean smirk decorating her face. “I have duties to perform.”

His brows shot up. Was she really going to go to Thorn? She didn’t even know if…

_Fuck!_

She twisted herself from his grip, running out of the door before he managed to react.

He followed her immediately, rushing after her across the empty marketplace, lit up only by a few torches on the surrounding buildings.

He almost caught up with her…

Then she stopped suddenly, turning around, facing him.

The second he stopped in his tracks, only a hair’s breadth away from her she hurled herself at him.

Her chapped lips captured his, her tongue thrusting into his mouth immediately as her hands grabbed at his hair aggressively.

Well… at least they were out of the tavern already…

He put his hands on her waist hesitantly, mulling over whether to pull away or to pretend that he didn’t mind. What was the safest course of action to stop her from going back to Thorn?

The kiss just made him think of Aeyrin… how much softer her lips were, how different her passion and eagerness felt from this aggressive fight for dominance…

She didn’t let up.

He got a sudden nauseous feeling in his gut.

Or was it guilt?

He tore himself away from her, the red lipstick staining his own lips as he looked at her, suddenly all too aware of their past, all too aware of what she was capable of.

“I knew you were lying! I saw two packs by your table, you ice-brain! And I saw her looking at you… I was wondering whether to have some fun myself… never cut off those knife ears before…” she laughed menacingly. “But I bet the boss will have some better ideas…”

Her malicious smirk was the last thing he saw as she turned on her heel and ran.

He had to stop her.


	75. Precautions

_ Author’s Note: _

_So we’ve reached the middle of the first book :) I hope you all enjoyed the ride so far :P Again, I want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to read through the story, and those of you who left a kudo, vote, comment or subscribed and followed and such O:) All your support mean so much to me <3_

_And, of course, don’t be shy to share your opinions of the chapters or of anything about the story. I’m always glad to hear from any of you :)_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter, as well as those to come after._

* * *

She couldn’t help herself.

What was happening? Why did he let that women paw all over him?

He knew her, that much was obvious – one of his past ‘acquaintances’ without a doubt…

But why didn’t he send her away? Why did he insinuate that she should act like they didn’t know each other? Did he actually want to… be with her?

Was she not enough for him? Did he like the woman better? Did her inexperience deter him? Did he want someone… more like her? Someone bolder? Someone who didn’t get flustered every time he touched her?

She thought he liked her for who she was, she thought he didn’t pine for something different…

Her anxiety was getting the better of her steadily. She knew she should be angry with him, rather than this, but she was powerless against the sudden onslaught of insecurity.

But maybe the woman was dangerous, maybe he was just cautious to deter her…

She told herself that was the case, calming her thoughts…

Until…

She didn’t want to go past them, but she needed to get away from the common room, the back of her neck burning insufferably.

She paid for a room with some of the money Hulda just gave her for the performance and left, eager to escape.

But she just couldn’t help herself.

She looked out the window on the upper floor, too curious to see if they would leave the tavern together…

She saw him chase after her, catching her at the marketplace.

She saw…

Her heart sank, sorrow, insecurity and the feeling of defeat washing over her.

They kissed…

He didn’t push her away, he put his arms on her waist, holding her close to him.

She couldn’t watch anymore, tears welling up in her eyes.

Did she do something wrong? Or was this just what he did? Abandoning her when someone better came along…

She stepped away from the window.

She just wanted to crawl somewhere and cry the night away, the confusion and the sorrow consuming all her thoughts.

Why was he doing this to her?

…

Neeshka ran through the empty nighttime streets towards the city gates.

Fuck! He needed to stop her!

He needed to prevent her telling Thorn about Aeyrin.

But how? She was determined… she was sure they were together.

Thorn took vicious pleasure in ruining his life.

He remembered his words after Jules died, after he tried to leave Thorn’s group again. After he did everything he could to sabotage his operations when he wouldn’t let him.

_‘Kill you? Why would I kill you? You wanted freedom. I’ll make sure you never have it._

_You think it’s over because the whelp is dead?_

_Everyone you ever care about, a will get them and I will take them away from you again._

_You owe me, Bishop._

_For all the shit you did to me and my men._

_You will owe me for the rest of your miserable life.’_

He saw what that meant.

He knew what happened to Ysolda.

He wouldn’t let that, or worse, happen to Aeyrin.

Whatever it took.

He caught up with her when she was almost by the gates.

They were right in front of Breezehome with no one around in sight.

The streets were blessedly quiet. Everyone was likely still at the inn.

There wasn’t even a guard by the gate.

It was like fate.

An opportunity.

He had to act.

His arms enveloped her, her back pressed against his chest as she gasped in shock.

His hunting knife at her throat.

There was no time to hesitate, he had a perfect opportunity.

He had to do _everything_ to save Aeyrin.

He had to take precautions.

The blood stained the tunic on his arm, trickling down her neck. Her weight falling limply against his chest, the sickening gurgle, as she tried to speak with the last vestiges of her life, echoed in his ears.

_Fuck!_

Fuck! What now?!

He was standing in an empty street with a corpse in his arms.

Anyone could have come.

Anyone could have seen him from the window.

This was sloppy and reckless!

He should have waited… he should have followed her outside the city. This was so fucking stupid! Why did he let himself panic like that?

_Stop fucking thinking about what you should have done and take care of this, idiot!_

He clutched her body to him, his hand frantically fishing in the pocket of his trousers.

The key, good.

His hand was shaking badly as he managed to fit it into the keyhole, lunging himself inside the house.

Lydia’s shocked expression greeted him, her mouth ajar along with palpable terror in her eyes.

He heard himself speak before he even realized it.

“I need your help.”

…

“Let me get this straight. You… murdered… an innocent person… to protect Aeyrin?”

Lydia’s scowl couldn’t be fiercer as she helped him lay the limp body on the large blanket.

“There’s nothing ‘innocent’ about her… she’s… look, it’s really fucking complicated. Now can we _please_ hurry this up before Aeyrin decides to come back?” he snapped at her, his hands still shaking badly, his body covered in Neeshka’s blood.

He could still make things right.

This could all still work out fine.

He just needed to do everything perfectly.

“That… I can’t accept you telling me it’s ‘complicated’ and help you get rid of a… body! You’re making me an accomplice! And how am I supposed to keep this from Aeyrin?!” Lydia threw her arms up in despair, her eyes fastened on the dead girl splayed on the blanket.

“Listen to me! There are… people. Bad fucking people who… if they take interest in Aeyrin… she’d be lucky if they just gave her a quick death alright? This girl is… was… a bandit. She wanted to tell them about Aeyrin. I needed to stop her!” Bishop tried to explain at least something without getting Lydia involved in his shit too.

“Why can’t Aeyrin know?! Why won’t you just tell her everything?!” Lydia cried out in confusion and desperation as he started to wrap the body in the blanket tightly, making sure to make enough layers that the blood wouldn’t soak through visibly. It was obvious that she was at the end of her rope here, desperately hoping that Aeyrin could know so that she would do the ‘right thing’. What even was the right thing in this shitstorm?

“Because… she would try to… get rid of the people… she would try to…” _help me_. “It’s too dangerous. She wouldn’t be able to do that… it would… end really badly for her, believe me…” he sighed in defeat, taking the length of rope from Lydia and fastening it around the blanket. She looked like she was only capable of automated responses. She did everything he told her to, getting the blanket and the rope without as much as an attempt to run off to get the guards. It was likely the shock. If she were able to think straight, he might have already had several soldiers restraining him and dragging him to the dungeons.

“I… I can’t believe you’re doing this to me…” Lydia shook her head, a hint of hurt on her face.

It was understandable, they were becoming friends, kind of, and now he dragged her right in the middle of all this shit. He was sorry… but nothing mattered as much as keeping Aeyrin from this.

“I know… if there were any other way, Lydia… I’m sorry. But I need you, and I need you for Aeyrin’s sake,” he gave her a genuinely pleading look. However much he tried, he couldn’t think of another solution.

There was so much conflict in her eyes. She seemed to be mulling over his words over and over again, pondering over her options. He was pretty certain though, that in her current state, she was unable to think rationally at all.

Lydia sighed in defeat, crouching down by the corpse and helping him fasten it with ropes. Maybe it was her training. She spent her life preparing for following some noble’s orders and whims. Maybe she must have been counting on something like this… well… maybe not something like this… but something bad happening during her service. Maybe she was ready to really keep silent and pretend like it never happened. Or maybe he was just trying to calm himself down by thinking this.

“So, what’s your master plan then? What do we do with… her?” she scowled at him, the fear and trepidation still palpable on her face.

“No one’s gonna be looking for her. She’s a runner. They get killed all the time…” he wasn’t sure if he was convincing her or himself. “It’s easy… you just… take some packs and stuff to seem like you’re moving a lot of items, not to draw attention to the blanket. Then you take her out of town… like… near White River Watch. There are always bandits there, it’ll just look like she was ambushed on the road. No one’s gonna bat an eye…”

Lydia stared at him slack-jawed, her eyes wide.

“W-wait… ‘me’? Why am _I_ doing this?! And… how often have you done this?!!! You… you have a whole system!!!”

“No… not a… system… I just… had some time to… process this. _You_ need to do this while I go back to Aeyrin and… try to… come up with something…” he shook his head, deftly avoiding one of the more uncomfortable questions she posed.

It took a long time before Lydia spoke, staring at him, her brows creased in despair, panic and suspicion. There was a chance she would go to the guards, rat him out.

But he still hoped. He hoped she would do this for Aeyrin’s sake. And for some reason, he hoped she would do this for him.

“I… I’m trusting you, Bishop. But if I find out you lied… if someone in town looks for that girl… or if… if anything happens to Aeyrin because of this… I will _not_ cover for you. And I will _not_ be dragged into this, understood? Anything goes wrong, it’s on you!”

He gave her a grateful nod.

Nothing could go wrong.

_Please let nothing go wrong…_

“Yeah… it’s on me. Hold on, I’ll arrange stuff on you so that it doesn’t look suspicious... then I need to… clean this up…” he looked over his bloodstained clothes. He was lucky he had an identical tunic and pants stashed in the house in case these became too worn or damaged in their travels. He could just throw these into the fire.

“And Lydia… thanks…”

…

He stood in front of the door, hesitating a bit.

He took a deep tentative breath. He had his story straight… at least a little. Now just to be convincing.

He noticed how much he hated lying to her. It was becoming harder and harder to keep secrets and there was always a pang of guilt whenever he had to do it. It wasn’t like this before. When he had to hide things for the sake of her, there was no reason to feel guilty. He just told her he didn’t want to talk about things whenever he could get away with that. But even then… he still felt a little bad. It was just getting worse now. The feeling that he might be endangering her more by keeping her in the dark was returning now even more often.

But rationally, he knew that wasn’t true. It was a necessary precaution, he knew her too well to know what followed.

It was probably just the fear of everything catching up to him talking.

Maybe he could just… get away with telling her everything gradually. He already told her about Jules and part of the shit that went down in the Guild.

It was so much easier to tell her than he feared.

But then again, those were not the things he worried about.

His bandit past, his hand in Jules’s death, and Thorn – those were the things he worried about.

The things he could probably never tell her.

He knocked on the door loudly, his forehead resting against it for a brief second.

No answer.

“Princess… please, let me in…” he knocked again with a sigh.

Nothing.

Maybe she was asleep…

Yeah right… she just didn’t want to talk to him.

Well… desperate times…

He fished in his pocket for a lockpick. He counted on this possibility. He bent down on his knee and fiddled with the lock, hearing the familiar snap only a second later.

She was sitting on the bed, a pillow clutched in her arms, pressed against her torso as if she was hoping it would provide her with some protective shield. Her eyes were puffy and had red circles around them, her whole face was flushed. This time he didn’t like the look of that. Especially because it was his fault… he made her feel like this.

“Go away…” she said quietly, her eyes never meeting his.

“No… just… let me explain…” he closed the door behind him, sitting himself on the bed in front of her.

She didn’t answer, her eyes still downcast, not looking at him.

Bishop took a deep breath, scooting closer to her, her averted eyes making him more nervous than he expected.

“She was… we used to have a thing a long time ago… I guess you figured _that_ out… Anyway… she’s kind of… insane. When I ended things with her, everything seemed fine. Until I slept with another girl… When she found out, she got mad and kinda started to… terrorize the girl. I just… I thought the best thing to do was to pretend we didn’t know each other. I didn’t want her getting any ideas again,” he sighed, looking at Aeyrin expectedly. This wasn’t a lie at least, but it still wasn’t exactly everything he could have divulged.

“Oh good, you slept with her to protect me… that feels better…” she mumbled, her brows creasing, her eyes still avoiding him.

“What? I didn’t sleep with her! Nothing happened!” he moved a bit closer again, oddly enough feeling further and further away from her by the second.

Finally her eyes turned to him, narrowing dangerously, hatefully.

“You’re lying! I saw you! I know what you did!” she spat at him, clutching the pillow closer to her, her eyes turning away from him again a second later.

‘Saw him’?! Did she see him kill her?!!!

No… she said they slept together. She wouldn’t have said that if she saw.

She must have seen them kiss.

Fuck, he didn’t count on that…

He placed a hand on her knee calmingly, only to have her flinch away with a nasty glare.

He sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah… she kissed me. I didn’t really know if I should stop her… like I said, I was trying to…”

“You said you were trying to keep her from knowing about me! Does that mean you can’t say no to her?! I saw you kiss her and then you disappear for like two hours! What in Oblivion am I supposed to think?!” she snapped at him, scooting away from him even further, her eyes accusing, spiteful.

Well… she had a point… it didn’t look good.

“I was… look… I stopped it after a while. I… wasn’t sure what to do… I didn’t want her to think there was someone else… I panicked… I guess,” he gave out another sigh. “I followed her for a while after… I wanted to make sure she left town. Just… to be safe.”

“That took two hours?!” she wouldn’t be deterred, scowling at him fiercely.

“No… I just… look, I wasn’t exactly eager to have this conversation! I just wandered around for a while, I guess…” he gave her a pleading look again. He wasn’t exactly counting on her seeing them. This made it way less convincing. He should have suspected this… he got so sloppy. Trying to keep her safe while trying to keep everything a secret from her at the same time has been steadily turning him into a nervous wreck.

“And I’m supposed to just believe that?! After you…” her breath caught in her throat, tears welling up in her eyes again involuntarily.

Fuck, this was heart-wrenching. Just the sight of her like this…

“Don’t you trust me?” his voice felt quieter, desperate.

“That’s not fair! You can’t just ask me that and get away with anything! I saw you kiss her! That doesn’t exactly garner trust!” she cried out, wiping the tears away quickly to calm herself.

He sighed again, at a loss for words. He moved closer to her again, wiping another tear escaping her gently, trying to catch her evasive eyes with his.

“I know... I’m… I’m really sorry I let it come to that. I promise you, nothing else happened between us. Princess, I don’t want anyone but you, I swear…”

He put his arm around her, pulling her close to him as she sobbed, his lips laying a gentle kiss in her hair.

“Stop… this isn’t fair! You can’t just…” she protested quietly, but didn’t do anything to pull away from him.

“I know… but I don’t know what else to do…” he let out a strained chuckle against her hair, moving her firmly against his chest, her curled form nestled in his arms.

“Why… why would you even lie in the first place? How am I supposed to…” she shook her head desperately, closing her eyes for a spell, as if to escape the room at least for a while.

“I… I just wanted to avoid this… it didn’t mean anything, I was just being careful to protect you from her. If I acted differently than I used to…” he sighed, now regretting sorely that he didn’t find out what she knew before coming up with an excuse. This, at least, was the truth too.

“Protect me?! Why would you think I needed protecting? Why would you think I would want _this?_ ” she cried out, punching firmly against his chest, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make a point.

“You don’t know what she’s capable of…” he scoffed, shaking his head with a scowl.

_You have no idea what I’m protecting you from…_

“I don’t care! Why can’t you just talk to me about these things?! Why do you always try to keep things from me first? How am I supposed to believe you after _that_?!” she clenched his tunic in his embrace, her eyes still avoiding him, her teeth gritted.

“I… don’t know… I… should have…” he sighed, lying again. If only it were that simple… Lying was the easier option, the better one. The safer one. No matter how much he hated it, it was necessary.

“It… makes me feel like… I don’t know what to believe anymore…” she sniffled again against his chest, her anger turning back into desperation at his feigned admission.

“I’m really sorry, sweetness. I didn’t wanna hurt you…”

She hid herself into his embrace.

Dammit, why did it feel so comforting?!

She shouldn’t believe him, she shouldn’t just let it slide. His reasons were weak at best. He wouldn’t have admitted what happened if she hadn’t seen him, who knows how much more he was hiding? And why would he do this? Why would he want to be with someone else? _She_ didn’t…

She hated how insecure this made her feel. It was not supposed to be her fault, and it was not supposed to be just forgiven and forgotten.

But she wanted to believe him… maybe it was just because she was scared of what would happen if she didn’t. And when would she be satisfied with his reasons? When he admitted sleeping with her? And if he didn’t? What then? What could he say to make her believe him?

Believing him would be so comforting…

“Tell me what to do, sweetness…” he whispered, his head was buried in her hair, his arms encircling her as she still hugged the pillow, curled into a ball.

“I don’t know…” she shook her head, at a loss. She didn’t want to let it go… but then again she wanted to. She just wanted things to go back to how they were only a few hours ago. But it wasn’t rational to just ignore this. No one would just ignore this… right?

“I don’t know either… I don’t know how to… prove that nothing else happened…” he shook his head against her hair, kissing it softly again. _I could show you her corpse… I bet that would convince you…_

She shrugged lightly, untangling herself from him, wiping her tears away.

“I don’t know… it feels like… I want to let it go… but it feels like I shouldn’t…” she sighed, putting the pillow back towards the headboard, avoiding his eyes again. It seemed stupid to say it out loud.

“I… umm… get that I’m biased… but you really shouldn’t concern yourself with what you ‘should’ do…” he gave her a weak smirk, his eyes still somewhat regretful and pleading. “Let’s just forget this, princess, please… I really don’t know what else there is to do…”

She shrugged rather than agreeing, her eyes still downcast.

Neither of them really talked for a while, the atmosphere in the room still uncomfortable.

They sat on the bed a stone’s throw apart, occasionally throwing each other uncertain looks.

Perhaps in the morning the tension would ease...

They stayed at the inn, at first each scooted onto their own side of the bed.

Aeyrin remembered the first time they stayed at The Bannered Mare.

They stayed in the same bed, in the second floor of the inn back then, equally uncomfortably separated. But back then… all she felt was this strange trepidation… and some excitement at being close to him.

Now it felt like she’s never been further away. After everything they went through… being back here, like this…

She sighed slightly, rolling herself over, ending up right next to his half-sleeping form.

He placed his arm under her head almost immediately, without thinking , his body turning to face her, his other arm draping over her waist, pulling her even closer.

He buried his face in her hair again and she felt his tense muscles relax against her body, as if he was holding his breath the entire time.

It was probably stupid… she probably should have been more careful, she probably shouldn’t just ignore this.

But she wanted to.

She didn’t want to even think on what it would be like. What if she never forgave him? Would she be able to part from him again? Would she be able to go back to travelling alone, without him, after everything that happened, after everything they’ve been together? Just the thought of that made her heart clench.

There was nothing she wanted more than to forget any of this ever happened.


	76. Homecoming

He waited by the tavern entrance while she talked to Hulda.

The woman mentioned some bounty to her and Aeyrin was eager to replenish the funds she wasted on the room last night.

He _was_ glad that she paid for the room. He had no idea what he would have done if she was returning to Breezehome right after he killed Neeshka.

“Can’t believe she let you back into her bed after you let that harlot paw at you last night…” Saadia’s derisive voice interrupted his pondering.

_You should be damn grateful for what I did…_

“Yeah… by the way, Saadia, anyone looking for you?” he raised his brow at her curiously. What _did_ the woman do to have someone like Thorn looking for her? Some people asked his group from time to time to bring them someone… mostly criminals who couldn’t hire some official bounty hunters. Or those that just wanted their target killed… more gruesomely.

The Redguard gave him a questioning look, but she seemed to… pale a bit.

“What in the Void are you talking about?” she scoffed, trying to hide her sudden bout of nervousness.

“Heard a rumor… apparently there’s been someone looking for you… you might wanna take care of that before they find you… could turn ugly,” he shrugged. Nobody deserved to be dragged off by Thorn’s men.

Saadia stepped closer to him, whispering with her eyes darting around the room: “Where did you hear that?”

“Around…” he raised his brow at her. She seemed to know who was looking for her, that would make things easier for her.

“Did you meet with them?!” her voice quivered slightly, her eyes watching him warily, likely not sure whether she could trust him not to take her to whoever was looking for her.

“I don’t know who ‘they’ are. I just heard that someone was looking for you. Thought to warn you, you should be careful. If you want a tip, watch for when strangers come into the tavern… you’re better off not being seen by those,” he shrugged again. There was really not much he could do to help her evade the hunters. Although, they did _rarely_ grab someone from inside a city. It was usually too risky. And with Neeshka gone with all her information, there was likely no one who knew where she was.

Her brows creased, her expression turning desperate: “You know nothing more?”

He shook his head: “Don’t leave the city, don’t go anywhere alone. That’s the best advice I can give you…”

She gave him a brief nod, going back to serving breakfast to the early risers with palpable nervousness now.

…

“Oh. Hi… I thought… you’d be back yesterday…”

Lydia made a strange face.

_Be fucking subtle, woman._

“It… got late… we stayed at the inn…” Aeyrin shrugged lightly, not eager to discuss the events of last night.

It was for the best, Lydia seemed fidgety.

“Everything alright in here?” he asked her casually.

“Yes… everything’s fine…” she nodded at him tentatively, turning abruptly towards the kitchen cabinets to busy herself with breakfast, likely worried that her face would betray something about what happened last night.

“What? What wouldn’t be alright?” Aeyrin gave him a questioning look.

What the fuck? He was being inconspicuous! Was it a weird question? He didn’t even know anymore. At times, it felt like he was overthinking everything. Then, at other times, it felt like he didn’t have even half his bases covered.

“I don’t know… whatever… just… making conversation, I guess…” he shrugged in annoyance.

“You? Conversation?” Aeyrin smirked at him disbelievingly.

Unreal… was he just bad at lying to her?

He decided to ignore the comment, rather than digging himself deeper, walking over to Lydia to help her with breakfast.

Lydia still seemed on edge, much to Bishop’s dismay. Then again… it wasn’t as if he was making things better.

Luckily, Aeyrin didn’t concern herself with their behavior further. Lydia was slowly getting back into their old routine, but she did occasionally throw Bishop a disturbed look.

He could hardly blame her.

She likely didn’t count on being an accessory to a murder anytime soon.

But Neeshka was a bandit! If they met her on the road they wouldn’t hesitate!

Well… _after_ she attacked…

Which she wouldn’t...

_Fuck, stop thinking about it! It had to be done… for her._

He did the right thing.

Then why couldn’t he stop overthinking and constantly wondering what he should have done differently?

For once, he was actually looking forward to spending their evening at Jorrvaskr – it would be a welcome distraction from this whole mess.

…

“Pup!!!”

Farkas almost toppled her, enveloping her in a huge bear-hug as she giggled, muffled by his muscled chest.

Vilkas laughed at their exchange, running towards them and joining in their greeting, embracing her from behind, his arms grabbing over his brother’s as he pressed himself against her firmly.

_Oh for fuck’s sake!_

He was sure he saw the glint in their eyes. They were no doubt imagining doing just that, but with no clothes in the way. He was convinced, however, that they wouldn’t be this forward normally. They were doing this to piss him off!

He made a show of wrapping his arm around her waist once they released her, pulling her closer to him. I tinge of trepidation coursed through him. Things were getting back to normal between them, but there was still something at the back of his mind telling him that she would flinch away from him.

She didn’t, luckily.

She seemed to have finally decided to ignore last night’s events. He was luckier than he thought he would ever be. It made him feel strange. Kind of… guilty.

But he was sure it would pass.

Especially with her by his side.

He was grateful that she didn’t protest at his proximity in front of the brothers. He really didn’t need the two slobbering dogs to get any more ideas…

“Still alive, mongrel?” Vilkas smirked at him, raising his brow at his show of possessiveness.

“Still bitter about that, ice-brain?” Bishop scoffed at him.

Vilkas’s answer was a mere scowl, but his friendly expression returned momentarily and he ushered them towards the feast tables where the other Companions dined merrily already.

“Hey! You two are back! So… how many dragons?” Aela waved them over to her excitedly, giving them a sly wink.

“One… I guess. But we took it down just the two of us, with no armor on to boot,” Bishop smirked smugly, sitting himself next to her and pouring himself a tankard of mead right away.

“I bet you just got your ass handed to you while _the Dragonborn_ did all the work,” Aela laughed, clanking her tankard to his.

“Go on, then, give us the stories. They’ll definitely be more exciting than any of ours… things have been so slow…” Vilkas grumbled, sitting himself next to Aeyrin, giving her an encouraging nudge with his elbow.

“Well… let’s see… I don’t think you’d find what we were doing in Solitude really interesting…” Aeyrin pondered. They would probably like hearing about their heist at the embassy, but that wasn’t really a safe topic. The ball and the meeting with Tullius seemed a lot less exiting for a group of seasoned warriors.

“Oh, I know! There was some trouble in Morthal. I bet you’ll like the tale…”

…

“Anyway, the beasts finally went up in flames with the last Shout. Falion was a bit upset that the corpses were damaged… honestly, I don’t get his fascination with the abominations…” Aeyrin shook her head in disgust.

She didn’t spare the Companions the gruesome details of the vampires’ victims and their tactics, her repulsion at their very existence plain to see after what she’s witnessed in their lair.

Most of them seemed excited at her recounting of the battle. Aela listened almost enraptured to her descriptions of the lair and how she dealt with the vampires. She really _did_ seem a good Stendarrite paladin material – she was so fascinated with the prospect of fighting Daedra, vampires or lycants to protect people. Aeyrin wondered why she never approached the ‘Vigilants’ she once mentioned to her. Perhaps she found her home with the Companions and didn’t want to lose it to another calling. Or maybe she stayed for Skjor.

Farkas and Vilkas were uncharacteristically quiet while she spun the tale. They didn’t even say anything when she half-heartedly admitted that Bishop was charmed by the creatures, much to his annoyance. Bishop grumbled while Aela teased him mockingly, but the brothers stayed silent, strange pensive looks on their faces.

“You seem pretty damn spiteful towards the bloodsuckers, lass,” Skjor smirked, looking her over.

“Wouldn’t you be? The things they did in the city… and the carnage at their lair… they’re monsters,” she shuddered, taking a long swig of her mead, to chase away the memories.

“Never tempted to become one? All that power, eternal life?” Skjor watched her curiously, as if trying to read her face like a book. That was a disturbing question… was _he_ tempted to become one?

“No!!! Never! What… what kind of life is that, when you become… well… that? Nothing is worth becoming a monster like that…” she sighed. Alva and Laelette likely didn’t want to become vampires either, but they embraced it. Their real life ended the second they were turned… She wondered if people inherently started to behave this monstrously when they were turned. Maybe they just abused their power more often than mortals did… But it didn’t seem like it, it seemed like they lost all their humanity, consumed by their desire to feed.

“Power doesn’t interest you?” Skjor asked again, a frown forming on his face and he gave her a doubtful shake of his head. He didn’t believe her. Didn’t believe that if she were faced with the option, she would have refused.

“It’s not just power you get. It never is. There’s always a price. Believe me, I’d know. You always lose something of yourself, or you always have to suffer. There’s no such thing as free power,” she shook her head at him. She was told something like this once by Master Therien. Now she was certain it was true, after becoming the Dragonborn.

“Sometimes the price is acceptable,” Aela gave her a smile, giving a strange sidelong glance to Bishop a second later.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I think maybe the scope of the price is just not apparent at first,” Aeyrin shrugged at her. She was a bit nervous after her last absorption of a dragon soul. Was it because the dragon was different? Or because she was tired and hungover? Or both? Would the same happen again? Would it get worse? Could it really kill her the next time?

“What do _you_ think of all this?” Aela nudged Bishop with raptured curiosity in her eyes.

“I’m all for killing bloodsuckers and shit like that. People are bad enough, no need for them to get more dangerous too…” he smirked derisively, but frowned a bit afterwards.

They seemed really interested in vampirism. He remembered Karnwyr’s reaction to Alva… and his reaction to the Companions. Not Aeyrin, though. It was weird… it would make sense somewhat, if they were vampires.

Then again, from what he knew, the things rarely got out in daylight and they made their lairs in dark places. Alva kind of checked all the boxes in retrospect, but the Companions didn’t. And they were such public figures… it would definitely be difficult for them to hide something like this. But why did Karnwyr go crazy around them? And besides, was it around all of them? Maybe it was just the brothers. Maybe there was something wrong with just them.

He really hoped there was something wrong with them, for some reason.

“Maybe if someone offered you such power, you wouldn’t be able to resist… who of us knows what they would do if…” Aela started to wonder aloud again, but Vilkas suddenly stood up from his chair abruptly, throwing her an oddly angry look.

“Aela, Skjor, we need to discuss something. Now,” he commanded, his brother standing up right after him, his face even more somber than Vilkas’s.

Aela and Skjor shared a rather annoyed look, but stood up after them, following them towards the courtyard with no explanation whatsoever.

“You’re leaving now?” Athis raised his brow at them with a slightly amused smile, but his eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

“Circle only, greyskin,” Vilkas growled, leading them outside.

Aeyrin and Bishop only shared an uncertain look. What was _that_ about? They were suddenly behaving rather strangely.

The whole fascination with vampires was baffling. And why did Farkas and Vilkas stay so quiet?

Something was going on.

But… apparently the details were not meant for their ears.

She sighed, staring into her tankard.

Without the four of them, they felt somewhat unwanted among the Companions. The only one who ever talked to them aside from the Circle, was Athis, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, looking after his four departed Shield-siblings with a suspicious look in his eyes.

To be fair, the Dunmer was always suspicious…

Well, they still had each other for company.

And all the food and drink they could possibly consume.


	77. The Ungrateful and the Dead

“You seem excited.”

Bishop smirked at her as she fastened her pack on her armor, making sure that nothing was about to fall out.

During the evening at Jorrvaskr they didn’t actually manage to get any contracts – apparently the Companions didn’t have a lot of work available and with the members of the Circle gone for the rest of the evening, there was no one to actually go out of their way to help them out.

The only thing left to do was to head out into the wilderness and plunder some dungeons.

Not that either of them minded.

They decided to return to Windhelm, taking the long road through Ivarstead, then possibly heading towards Winterhold. Unless they got called off urgently by Delphine or Karliah.

“It’s been way too long… I’m not really counting anything that happened in Solitude as… adventuring. And when was the last time we actually went through a dungeon together?” she gave him a wry smile looking over the large entrance to an ancient barrow in front of them.

“Yeah, it’s been a while… since you obviously preferred some fancy-ass wizard watching your back the last time we were even close to one,” he smirked at her, checking over his arrow supply as the wolf by their side nudged into his leg impatiently.

“Maybe next time don’t try to kill me if you don’t wanna get left behind,” she smirked at him, patting his cheek mockingly.

“Ready? I’m curious to see if we can find another Wall there,” she peered at the entrance for a while, throwing a questioning look at Bishop after a while.

“Yeah, let’s go. Karnwyr needs to kill something other than a rabbit.”

…

The three of them entered the ancient ruins, ready for battle.

It was surprisingly quiet.

They made continued forth carefully, unsettled, through a small chamber and a long hallway. There, at the end of it, a dead draugr lay on the ground.

“Someone else is here…” Aeyrin spoke softly, looking over the corpse at her feet.

They opened the door into the next chamber slowly, spotting a young Nord man sitting on the ground with another dead draugr right beside him.

The man was bleeding.

Aeyrin rushed over to him, her hand lighting up with healing magic right as she reached him.

“Hold still, you’ll be alright,” she gave the Nord an encouraging smile as she propped him up a bit more with one hand, the other hovering over the torn bloodied hide armor at his abdomen.

“K-k-keep that… away… f-from me…” the man stammered, trying to grip her wrist with his weak hand, flinching at the sight of the warm white light emanating from her hand.

“Shh… it’s alright. It’s just healing magic,” she frowned slightly, adamantly keeping her spell up while the Nord tried to flinch away from her with palpable difficulty. The cut wasn’t too deep – she could manage to heal him, but he’s lost a lot of blood already.

“M-magic… evil… s-s-s-stay away…” his voice trembled as the visible wound started to heal gradually, making him grunt in relief despite himself.

“Did you hit your head? Who the fuck scoffs at healing when you’re bleeding out in a crypt?” Bishop smirked, keeping his eyes on the surroundings while Karnwyr ran around the room, sniffing for some hints of more undead.

The hatred for magic in Skyrim was getting ridiculous. Especially if even a healer would be shunned for it while trying to help a slowly dying man.

The Nord didn’t protest further but his hand still gripped Aeyrin’s wrist weakly, as if to push her away at any second.

After a while the healing was complete and Aeyrin handed the man one of their potions to get him back on his feet.

“Thank you… I suppose. Although I would have preferred not to rely on some foul magics for recovery…” the man grumbled as he stood up, his brows creased while he looked them both over, his eyes then darting in suspicion towards the wolf sniffing around the chamber.

“You gotta love the gratitude of a dying man,” Bishop scoffed at him again. That idiot would have been dead already if it weren’t for Aeyrin and her convictions. Anyone else might have just left him there… or looted his corpse seconds later.

“It’s fine. I don’t need gratitude. The important thing is, you are alright…” Aeyrin smiled politely, but the man still threw her nasty looks for some reason.

“What are you two… three… doing here anyway? This is my tomb…”the Nord folded his arms across his chest, watching them with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah… it almost _was_ ,” Bishop snorted derisively, shaking his head at the man.

“What do you mean: ‘your tomb’?” Aeyrin’s brows shot up. Did these barrows belong to people? Since when did ancient massive burial grounds belong to people?

“My family is buried here. There’s already one intruder doing Shor-knows-what to my ancestors… why are _you_ here?” he scowled deeply, looking over their equipment curiously.

“This… this is your tomb? I thought…” Aeyrin looked around with uncertainty. Weren’t these places so ancient that no one knew who was buried there anymore? It was strangely uncomfortable to be there with the descendant of the undead roaming around.

“It’s not _his._ Sometimes people pile their dead into the areas by the entrance, when they’re too cheap to get them into the Halls of the Dead or too lazy burn them. Just because you got a granny stuffed in a box here, doesn’t mean it’s not free pickings for adventurers,” Bishop retorted in annoyance, pointedly turning to one of the shelves around and looking over the dusty things in it to search for loot.

“How dare you?! Have you no respect for the dead? Two generations of my family are buried here and you would plunder the place like a common bandit lair!”

Aeyrin shuffled her feet nervously. It was… a grey area for her faith. Then again, it wasn’t as if they disturbed the dead. The undead were mindless husks, their spirits long gone. Ridding the world of them was a good thing – they were dangerous, as they proved enough by nearly killing the supposed ‘owner’ of this place.

And they needed to get money somehow… there was no use for treasures if they remained buried. And if they were uncovered and sold, there was a chance that some scholar may come across them and enhance the world’s knowledge of the ancient civilizations.

Why did she feel so uncomfortable around this man then?

“No one’s touching your dead, ice-brain. We’re here for the loot and for… whatever…” Bishop stopped himself before he managed to divulge Aeyrin’s identity by mentioning the Walls. “So unless you personally bought the ancient treasures and transported them into the depths of the barrow, I’d suggest you shut up already and stop delaying us.”

“This is ridiculous. First that sick elf freak comes here to… Shor’s bones, I don’t even want to think about _that_. Now you come here to pick off what’s left of the place… auntie Agna will be beside herself… if she’s…” the Nord’s words trailed off as he shook his head with a somber expression.

“What are you talking about? What elf?” Aeyrin looked at him curiously. It was odd that he was in that place at all, unless he was burying someone.

The man sighed, looking them over once more with furrowed brows before he spoke: “There’s a greyskin necromancer… he apparently took an interest in this tomb to do his foul magic. Me and my aunt came here to deal with him, make sure he didn’t touch our family, but…” he shook his head again, looking into the ground with a hint of shame in his eyes.

“Why would he care for the few corpses by the entrance? He’s got a whole hall of ancient skeletons available deep in the tomb no doubt. Why would you even bother?” Bishop gave him a doubtful look as he collected some old soulgems from the shelf he was examining, dusting the years of grime from them before stashing them in his pack.

“We didn’t know what corpses he looked for! Wouldn’t you think that he’d want… fresher ones… for whatever sick Dunmeri magic he intended to perform…” the man threw his arms up in exasperation.

“Where’s your aunt then?” Aeyrin looked around the room, in case she missed another wounded person on the ground.

“She… I… I wasn’t exactly… eager to go in… she… got impatient and… went ahead…” the Nord hung his head, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment while he cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Aaaww, and here I thought you were the fearless stalwart protector of this tomb,” Bishop laughed at the man meanly.

“We… should head further in. See if we can find your aunt before something happens to her,” Aeyrin smiled at him encouragingly. He was obviously stressed. No wonder that he was jumpy about their presence there.

“F-fine… I’m… I’m coming with you!” the man puffed up his chest, trying too blatantly to look tough, eliciting another laugh from Bishop.

“Of course you are, now that there’s actually people who can handle the danger. Your aunt must be so proud…” Bishop continued to taunt the Nord for some reason, looking like he really enjoyed himself. Aeyrin did not understand his inclinations sometimes…

“You better shut up about the looting, boy, unless you wanna be left behind with the draugr,” he sneered at him after a while, following to where Karnwyr was, waiting for them patiently by the entrance leading further into the tomb.

The man threw him a disgusted look, turning back to Aeyrin, surprisingly with no less distaste: “I guess I have little choice in the matter. If you help me get rid of the vile necromancer, you may keep whatever’s in the depths of the tomb. But… could you maybe… keep the magic away from me? I get that it can do a lot of damage, but… it’s too unpredictable.”

“I’m a healer! I don’t use magic to fight. And even if… never mind… let’s just go…” she sighed, giving up on lecturing the man on tolerance towards mages for now. “I’m Aeyrin, by the way. And that’s Bishop and Karnwyr,” she incline her head towards the door where her two companions waited.

“I’m Golldir. I hope you know how to handle yourselves. This place is trickier than you’d think,” he muttered, eliciting another derisive scoff from Bishop.

…

“Auntie Agna!”

Golldir ran towards the corpse on the ground franticly, barely paying attention to the large draugr standing above her with a readied axe.

Bishop’s arrow managed to pierce the creature’s head just as it started to charge at the reckless man. He let out a couple of curses at his behavior, growling in frustration. That boy was luckier than he realized. If he, by some miracle, didn’t bleed out in the chamber where they found him, he would have died only a second later, after he encountered another draugr.

“She’s dead…” Aeyrin sighed regretfully, shaking her head to indicate to him that there was nothing she could do for his aunt.

“I can see that, stupid knife-ear!” Golldir snapped, crouching by the body, closing her opened blank eyes with his fingers.

Bishop threw him a look which said that he was seconds away from making him drop dead right by his aunt, but Aeyrin shook her head at him wryly. Dealing with him was far from pleasant, but then again, he _did_ just lose his relative. She could definitely forgive some outbursts in that situation.

They started scurrying around the room, looking for loot a bit nervously as the man still knelt by his aunt. Normally, Aeyrin was equipped to offer consolation for someone in mourning, but his hostile attitude threw her off.

“Golldir, if you don’t want to continue, you can…” she started to speak softly, in part hoping that he would get the good sense to leave the barrow and return to safety.

“No! I will kill that greyskin for this slowly… he will _not_ get away with this!” Golldir growled, getting himself up from the ground determinedly.

She shared another scowl with Bishop. It wasn’t even certain if the undead were all risen by the necromancer. It wasn’t as if every one of these barrows crawling with draugr had a resident conjurer at hand. And judging from Golldir’s attitude towards mages, who knew if the Dunmer was actually doing anything dangerous?

It would have been so much easier to go on without him…

“Just… be careful then… if you let your anger blind you…” she sighed. Not that _she_ was one to talk, she often got overwhelmed by her own anger, acting recklessly. But he didn’t know that and he certainly could use the lesson.

“Don’t preach at me! I know what I’m doing!” he barked at her again, stepping impatiently towards the door leading further in and throwing them a raring look.

Bishop scoffed at him, muttering something about incompetence before rolling his eyes at Aeyrin and inclining his head towards the door, encouraging her to get things over with.

…

They stopped in front of the large doors.

It looked like the entrance to an important chamber, likely the final one, and Karnwyr’s affirmative bark at the nearby presence of another living person only assured them of it.

While Golldir looked eager to go on, Bishop stopped them firmly, throwing a wary glance to Aeyrin.

“You alright, ladyship? Do you hear it?” he whispered, furrowing his brows and readying his bow. He needed to be prepared if there was a chance she would get incapacitated by a Wall again – Golldir would likely be no help at all.

“No… I don’t think it’s there…” Aeyrin pricked up her ears carefully, but there was no drumming. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She was really neglecting her training lately and a new Shout would be a nice incentive.

“What are you two talking about? Let’s go already!” Golldir growled impatiently, tapping his armored foot heavily and loudly on the ground.

“Be fucking quiet, you amateur. You don’t give a conjurer time to prepare for you, dipshit,” Bishop snapped at him in half-whisper. This ice-brain was testing his patience.

Golldir threw him a hateful glare but finally stopped the loud tapping which echoed across the hall.

They readied their weapons, Karnwyr growling menacingly as they barged into the large door.

The Dunmer snapped his head up from a sarcophagus, but instead of a shocked expression, he gave them a smirk, his hands already alit with purple glow.

Of course he knew of them…

“I’ll return my ancestors to Sovngarde, and you with them!” Golldir yelled as he charged. The sarcophagi around the chamber gradually dropped the stone lids heavily on the ground while he made his way through towards the Dunmer.

Aeyrin charged right after him, keeping an eye on the man, lest he got himself killed, Karnwyr following right behind her.

“That’s not how it works…” Bishop smirked mockingly at Golldir while he pulled his bowstring. He wasn’t sure how afterlife worked, but he knew it was _not_ like that. The undead corpses certainly didn’t drag spirits back from Sovngarde into the husks. Right? At least Aeyrin seemed to think so… she knew more about this spiritual shit than him.

Golldir ran straight for the mage, ignoring the draugr swarming him. He had his way clear, but any of those things could hit him from behind at any time. He was so reckless.

Aeyrin and Bishop did their best to thin the herd, protecting the foolish Nord whenever they could, while Karnwyr charged the mage alongside him.

The mage was ready. His arm lighting up with a purply glow before a same-colored dagger appeared in it.

The Dunmer smirked as he saw one of his raised dead slam its warhammer right into Golldir’s back, clad only in old iron armor. The impact made him fall over, screaming out in pain, and the mage approached him, his magical dagger glimmering in his hand.

The Dunmer gave out a malicious smile, bending over, preparing to sink the blade into the man’s neck as he scrambled to push himself up from the ground.

Aeyrin was surrounded. She couldn’t even see what was happening with the mage – there were draugr everywhere around her. They were weak and fell under her mace easily, but there were so many of them. She had to stay on her guard, swinging her mace in wide circles, spinning wildly.

Her head was getting dizzy…

Bishop didn’t concern himself with the idiot charging the mage. If he wasn’t stupid, Bishop could have taken care of the Dunmer while they subdued the draugr at the front lines. But without Golldir drawing the attention of the undead, he had other concerns. He was certainly not letting Aeyrin get overwhelmed and hurt because of his idiocy. The boy was on his own.

He drew his bow constantly, hitting the creatures surrounding her one by one, slowly but steadily easing her situation.

In the corner of his eye he saw it, the mage reading to slice the fool’s throat.

Well… you die for stupid mistakes. Every child knew that you don’t charge a mage when you have an archer at your back. He fucked up their entire tactics. Maybe they should have discussed those with him beforehand, but they just assumed that he wouldn’t do anything this stupid. How naïve of them…

Just then, a piercing shriek echoed through the halls.

Bishop turned his head sharply, taking in the sight briefly before turning back to Aeyrin a second later. He couldn’t let up, she was counting on him to watch her ass… her back, that is. But what a sight it was…

The wolf’s jaw wrapped around the Dunmer’s throat as he knelt down by the wounded Nord, blood spraying in thick stream when he tore a huge chunk of flesh from him, ripping into his arteries, his fangs grazing his bones sharply.

That was fucking impressive.

Not that it was surprising that Karnwyr was way more capable than that damn fool, but still… the mage never saw him coming.

It took some more time, but eventually, Aeyrin sent the last three draugr pestering her shambling into bits and pieces with a wide powerful swing.

Bishop noticed she didn’t even attempt to Shout. Was she just trying to prevent Golldir knowing? Was she too concerned about hurting him? Or was she just trying to make do without them? He hoped it wasn’t the last option. He’s had enough of the Greybeards’ bullshit. Restraint was pointless and she needed to get used to her powers so that she could control them.

Aeyrin’s breastplate heaved with her exerted breaths while she steadied herself on her feet, her head still spinning a bit from the swings. After a while, she approached the collapsed Nord, passing by the wolf who was proudly presenting a chunk of grey skin and flesh to her, blood covering his maw, dripping from the meat.

“Golldir?” she breathed out loudly, her hand moving towards the fastenings of his prominently dented iron armor, unclasping the leather bands on his flanks.

“What… what are you…” he gasped when he felt her fingers on his tunic, his body propped on all fours while he panted deeply.

“You fucking ice-brain! What were you thinking? You better be fucking grateful to still be alive!” Bishop barked at the man, rubbing Karnwyr proudly behind his ears in the meantime before the wolf dropped the chunk of flesh at his feet, barking excitedly.

Aeyrin removed his breastplate, laying her hand on his back gently.

Odd… everything seemed… fine…

She pushed lightly, but he didn’t make a sound, only turning his head and throwing her a disturbed look.

“Does…. does this hurt?” she gave him an uncertain expression. She was worried his spine was damaged… his plate had a large dent in it after all.

“No… how long are you planning on groping me? Never thought elven wenches were this eager…” he scoffed at her, his breathing still a bit ragged.

“What?” her eyes went wide at him. His comment made her flush almost subconsciously, but what bothered her more was the fact that he seemed completely unharmed. Why would he just stay on the ground?

“That’s it! I’m killing him,” Bishop threw his arms up in exasperation, eliciting a frightened whimper from Golldir.

“Bishop…” Aeyrin said with a warning undertone, but she knew he wasn’t really serious. Not that she wasn’t frustrated with the man too…

“Are you even hurt, Golldir?” she frowned at the man as he sat himself on the ground, staring at the mangled corpse of the Dunmer necromancer.

“My head hurts a bit… the blow was uncomfortable. Do you have a potion?” he grumbled, making sure to throw a scowl at Aeyrin as she studied his body with her eyes for any palpable injuries.

What was he thinking? As if she would actually ever look in any other way than a professional one at someone this obnoxious.

“I’m all out… Bishop?” she shrugged. She wouldn’t deny him the potion, but she would hardly be concerned if Bishop didn’t have any left either.

“Pfft… as if! The fucking imbecile acts all tough, then leaves us hanging in battle like the fucking coward he is! And now with the comments again?! As if any girl would ever wanna touch a dipshit like you, let alone _her_! You’re not getting anything from me!” Bishop spat at him, making a point of turning away and heading towards the large table at the back of the room to look for loot.

Aeyrin followed him, giving him a demure look: “Bish… I know, but…” Even though he seemed fine, if something actually _was_ wrong with him after the impact and they had a way of helping… she needed to help.

She should not let her personal distaste for someone get in the way of her vows.

“Besides, the sooner we get him the potion, the sooner he is likely to leave,” she smiled at Bishop cheekily.

Bishop smirked. He would never insist on her to go against her convictions, but it was funny how she still tried to sway him, using his own attitude against him. To be fair, she had a point. He was eager to get the man out of their lives for good.

He returned to Golldir who still sat dumbly on the floor.

He fished in his pack for a while, looking for a healing potion.

What was that? It felt like some parchment. Aeyrin usually kept all their letters and shit in her pack, so what could it be?

He hastily threw the potion at the man on the ground as he returned his hand to his pack, pulling out a small folded note.

Weird, how did it get there?

He unfolded it while Golldir downed the potion.

It was an odd sight.

A handprint, made with black ink, was covering the majority of the parchment.

Under it, two ominous words, making chills run down his spine.

_We know_

“What the fuck?” he mumbled, staring at the note in his hand.

“What is it?” Aeyrin called out to him from the back of the room, searching through a large ornate chest.

“Nothing,” he responded quickly, stashing the note back into his pack.

What in Oblivion… why did he just lie? It was like instinct… he just got this… strange feeling. He felt like he shouldn’t tell her.

But why?

And what did the note mean?

Who was ‘we’? And what did they know?

Was is about his bandit days? Was someone threatening him? Was it about the bounty on his family? Was it Mercer, finding out about their association with Karliah?

A horrible feeling swept over him as the thought crept into his mind: was it from Thorn?

He chased it away immediately. This was definitely _not_ his style. He had no need for this ominous bullshit.

But what did it mean?

Maybe he _should_ tell Aeyrin. Why did he even hide it? What came over him?

Well… he could always pretend he found it later… But what if it _was_ about some of the things he hid from her?

“Thanks… so… I guess I will be heading out…” Golldir interrupted his musings as he stood up from the ground suddenly.

“I’d rather you didn’t take any more stuff from my tomb, but I guess I can’t stop you…” he grumbled, earning himself a nasty sneer from Bishop.

“Just fucking go, you ungrateful shit!” he barked at him, the unpleasant panic in him replaced by anger and frustration at that ice-brain.

Golldir hung his head a bit, heading away from the tomb. Aeyrin thought about saying goodbye and offering her sympathies for his loss, but any gestures from her seemed only to anger him.

It was better to forget about him altogether.

…

They finally got away from the dungeon after some more thorough looting.

Nightfall was already close and they pondered if they should get themselves to Ivarstead or camp in the wilderness.

Eventually, the lack of emergency supplies forced them to seek a safer shelter – there were not many very suitable places on the short way anyways.

Hopefully they would reach Ivarstead with no disruptions.


	78. The Road to Ruins

_ Author’s Note: _

_So there’s some smut again at the beginning of the chapter O:) Enjoy or skip at your leisure. That being said, I decided to put in some warnings regarding kinks. It’s not specific to this chapter, but more for any future smut as well, just to avoid making anyone uncomfortable at any point. I also don’t want to spoil the content for anyone though, so from now on, I’ll be putting an asterisk before certain smut scenes with more specific warnings at the end of the chapter. If for any reason you’d rather know beforehand what the scene will contain, scroll down to the bottom. Otherwise, you are free to read spoiler-free :)_

_I hope you all enjoy the chapter in any case :)_

* * *

* “Come on, princess, nobody cares.”

Bishop groaned in her ear, his hand running over her body eagerly, caressing her upwards from her thighs until they rested on her breasts, massaging them firmly.

“I care… It’s embarrassing, everyone will stare at us in the morning…” she tried to snatch his hands away half-heartedly, but with her resolve slowly leaving her, she only managed to grip at his wrists as he kept playing with her, eliciting a low moan from her.

“You didn’t care in Solitude,” he chuckled, one of his hands moving down across her naked skin, stroking below her belly button, teasingly approaching lower.

“I… I couldn’t hear everyone through the do-door there…” she gasped when she tried again to capture his wrists, but didn’t really pull him away. Damn those hands! He was undoing her quickly.

“You think that means they couldn’t hear? Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’d say you’re louder than a swarm of roaring drunkards,” he laughed mischievously, his hand dipping down towards her warmth, stroking over her and eliciting a loud moan from her reflexively.

“W-what?!” she yelped, the grip on his wrist tightening when she prepared to disentangle herself in earnest this time.

“I’m kidding. But… if it’s really bothering you…” he laughed and his hands left her as he sat up on the bed. She felt a tinge of disappointment, but it was for the best. It was too embarrassing to have everyone give her suggestive looks the next day. She had enough of that every time she was drunk and her resolve was practically nonexistent. Besides, the commotion they already caused their first night here in Ivarstead was enough.

Bishop dragged her pack from the floor on the bed beside him, fishing around there for a while.

“What are you looking for?” she peered at him curiously, curling around him from behind and looking over his shoulder.

“A solution,” he smirked at her, his hand finally finding his target. He produced one of the soft yellow washrags made from the dress that Mercer gave her, presenting it to her with a suggestive grin.

“You’re… not serious, are you?” her eyes went wide at him as she untangled herself from him. He turned around to face her, his hand cupping her cheek gently and stroking over it, his thumb strumming over her lower lip slowly.

“Only if you’re up for it, sweetness,” he gave her a surprisingly gentle smile, his other hand returning to caress her body again. He obviously did _that_ just to tease her enough that she’d agree. Then again… it was kind of an… exciting idea. She feared it would remind her of their struggle in the sewers, but the only images playing in her head were of how he teased her and kissed her in her tied up state their first night there.

She nodded slowly and Bishop pushed her down on her back almost immediately, his gentle touch turning eager and hungry again.

He nipped at her ear, his hot breath tickling it while he started to knead her breasts firmly again. His voice was low and rumbly when one of his hands turned to grab the rag, placing it next to her head before it returned to her face, gripping her chin and tilting her head back. His thumb pressed against her lower lip again, the nail pricking her lightly.

“Open up, princess,” she heard him smirk in her ear before his kisses moved over her jaw slowly.

“J-just… not too… deep,” she stammered in between heavy breaths, his other hand still squeezing her breast eagerly, fingers playing with her hardened nipple.

“The rag? Don’t worry… but other than that…” he chuckled as she opened her lips for him tentatively, her eyes closing in anticipation.

Instead of the cloth, she felt his lips on hers, his tongue invading her mouth, twining with hers passionately for a time.

They continued to kiss frantically for a while, their breaths ragged, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies with excitement. After some time, the need for air forced them apart. She opened her eyes to find him looking her over, his touch turning gentle for a bit again while his hand stroked her cheek once more, his smile fond and hungry at the same time.

She opened her mouth for him once more and he tentatively took the cloth, folding it neatly in his hands. She closed her eyes, feeling the cloth brush against her lips and touch her tongue lightly. It didn’t feel anything like before – the sensation was similar, but there was no fear, only excitement.

Bishop pushed the washrag a little deeper, careful not to make her gag. He gave her a questioning look when he withdrew his hand, eliciting a nod and a muffled moan from her.

He chuckled lightly, turning his attention to her neck. She felt him return to that same place again, nipping at her skin, sucking on it eagerly. Every time he did that now, it was like hearing that low growl in his voice all over again, when he murmured to her: _‘You are mine’._ Just the memory of that made her body heat up even more.

Bishop moved his roaming lips down to her cleavage while one of his hands moved lower, rubbing against her wet slit, eliciting a strained moan against her gag. Her hands started to grip at his arms, the firm muscles flexing under her touch pleasantly.

Her hand moved down to his cock, gripping over his girth, making him groan against the soft flesh of her breasts. She felt his fingers enter her swiftly, making her whole body twitch at the contact, her hand squeezing him even harder.

He seemed to be straining against his patience. His hands and lips left her and he moved away, making her release him in the process. He lowered himself along her body, his head nestling between her legs, his mouth sucking on her eager nub faster than she anticipated. His exertions were eager and intense and the need to bury himself in her was already palpable in his ministrations.

She gasped and moaned under her rag, the obstruction in her mouth suddenly feeling both uncomfortable and helpful as she dug her teeth into the fabric, biting down on it firmly while powerful jolts coursed through her, making her whole body thrash.

The gag muffled a loud long moan when she grappled at his hair firmly, her back arching, heat spreading through her body, her walls clenching, eager to grip something inside them. Bishop continued his ministrations for some time, his tongue licking at the wetness between her legs intensely until the anticipation started to build up in her again.

He moved away from her suddenly, grabbing her by the calves, and she shifted herself while he arranged her against him. He placed her legs along his chest, grabbing her below her backside and squeezing her firm flesh hungrily. She spread her legs further, carful that her calves didn’t slip off his shoulders as he positioned himself against her, his eyes fixed on her crotch, watching himself tease her entrance with the tip of his hard cock.

He entered her with a powerful thrust, unable to wait anymore. A deep groan escaped his lips while she arched her back and gasped into the rag, her teeth digging into the fabric again. Bishop gripped her legs, his eyes still fastened on their joining point, his need barely contained as he thrusted against her, making her whole body jerk with every movement, her breasts bouncing while she dug her fingers into the bedsheets, strained breaths escaping her nose and muffled moans echoing against the gag in her mouth.

She clenched him inside her eagerly, her head tipped back, eyes closed, her whole body quivering and burning as he hit a special place deep inside her with every hard thrust. She arched back, a deep pulsating overpowering her insides, her heart pumping wildly in her chest.

She felt him twitch inside her, her walls clenching him as he stopped his thrusts for a while, buried deep within. The warmth of him spread through her, a loud groan of relief and some muttered curses escaping his mouth. Why didn’t _he_ get a gag? He wasn’t exactly quiet either…

She panted under him while he stayed in the same position for a while, moving in and out slowly as his excitement subsided gradually, his cock softening inside her.

Her legs fell heavily from his shoulders after he slipped from within her, their fluids escaping along her backside. His body slumped down onto her, his weight pressing her against the thin mattress.

She wrapped her arms around his back, stroking over his heaving muscles as he breathed deeply against her, his breath tickling her face while he planted lazy open mouthed kisses over her cheeks and forehead.

She reached out for the rag in her mouth after a while, but suddenly his hand darted to hers, gripping her wrist firmly. A mischievous smile played on his lips while he pushed himself off of her, watching her sweaty naked body under him.

“I am far from done with you, sweetness.”

…

“Morning, you two.”

Lynly smiled at them as they entered the common room, pouring two tankards of mead for them automatically.

They sat themselves at a table in the corner, the rest of the room was still blessedly empty.

“You came in late last night. And we didn’t even get a chance to catch up after my performance with how fast you disappeared to your room,” Lynly passed them the tankards, sitting herself at their table for a while, obviously bored by the lack of customers in the morning.

“Yeah… we had a long day,” Aeyrin smiled, watching her expression a while for any hints of smirks or suggestive looks, but she didn’t find any. She _was_ pretty sure the gag was pointless eventually, but it _was_ surprisingly exciting.

“Are you heading back up the mountain?” she gave them a curious look. This time her smile turned into a bit of a knowing one. They _have_ traveled to High Hrothgar twice already and the rumors of elven Dragonborn were getting more and more widespread. It was likely that she already figured Aeyrin’s identity out.

“Not this time. We’re just taking the long road to Windhelm,” Aeyrin shrugged, answering wryly. She was hoping that the server wouldn’t broach the subject of the Dragonborn. It was refreshing being back on the road with no one knowing. She even stopped herself from using Shouts in front of Golldir. It was strange… she was much more self-conscious about people that disliked her knowing who she was. Maybe it was the fact that she _knew_ they would be disappointed with the legend. But why couldn’t she stop herself from caring? She shouldn’t be concerned with what unpleasant people thought of her. But for some reason, she couldn’t help herself. She envied Bishop’s disinterest in other people’s opinions. It sounded… refreshing.

“Breakfast?” Lynly smiled at them after a while, getting up from the table and heading to prepare their food once they nodded at her eagerly.

The barmaid joined them again once they dug into the plates filled with steaming carrot and beef stew, bread and small boiled cream treats.

“So what’s in Windhelm?” Lynly asked curiously.

“Not much… just visiting the city. We’re looking for some odd jobs on the way, gathering some loot to sell,” Aeyrin said, not willing to discuss Talos worship either. She felt like none of the things they were actually doing were safe to talk about with random people. It was strange – when she was travelling through Cyrodiil, she always spent time at taverns sharing the tales from the road with other patrons. Now there were the Blades, Raven and Karliah, her interest in Talos – all of those topics could get them in trouble with the wrong people.

“Oh! I have a tip for you. It’s a little… strange though…” Lynly chuckled nervously, making them turn their eyes from their plates to her curiously.

“We’ve… spotted a ghost roaming around the old barrow at night. There’s been nothing happening with that place ever since anyone remembers, but now, suddenly, there’s this… ethereal figure just… walking around. It doesn’t hurt anyone, but it’s scaring some patrons away nonetheless. Half of the pilgrims here up and left already,” Lynly explained.

They noted the ancient barrow by the village the first time they arrived, but with their sights set at the monastery up the mountain, they decided to leave it be. Besides, it was so close to the village, they assumed it was plundered a hundred times over.

“No one’s investigated?” Aeyrin asked curiously, taking a large bite of her treat afterwards.

“Who would? There’s farmers, merchants and innkeepers here. The pilgrims aren’t really battle-ready either. But I know how capable you two are. Just getting through the snowed under passes was quite a feat. Every other pilgrim gave up. Some even spotted trolls up the mountain,” Lynly smirked as in disbelief.

Should they mention the dragon to her?

“You don’t know about anyone that’s been in the barrow? Ever?” Bishop narrowed his eyes. It seemed unlikely that the place would remain untouched.

“The word of mouth is that people don’t come near it. They always whispered that it’s cursed. I assume adventurers don’t consider it worth their time, maybe thinking it’s already plundered. But honestly… I doubt it is. Then again, I’ve only moved here a year ago,” she shrugged noncommittally.

“Oh? Why move to Ivarstead? No offence… it just… I thought people mostly moved into larger cities…” Aeyrin inquired. It seemed odd for a barmaid and a bardess to rely on a secluded inn for employment, unless she grew up in the place.

Lynly seemed a bit nervous at the question, straightening her skirt on the chair with palpably fidgety hands as she cleared her throat: “That’s… that’s a long and boring story. I might tell you some other time…”

“We can look into the barrow…” Bishop nodded after a while, steering the conversation away from the topic.

“That’s great! I hope you can do something to… I don’t know… put the spirits to rest or… whatever one does with ghosts…” she chuckled a bit, getting up from their table. She seemed eager to leave them suddenly, likely trying to avoid more personal questions.

…

They stood in front of the ruins, looking over the empty sarcophagi by the entrance.

It was so close to the village… it seemed strange that scores of adventurers didn’t plunder it all the time. Maybe Lynly simply didn’t know about them.

It was still a worthwhile pursuit – there may be a Wall inside.

Karnwyr sniffed around the entrance curiously, following the ground with his nose until he reached a small puddle of ectoplasm some distance away from the door.

“Seems the ghost stories are right…” Bishop pondered as the wolf called him over to his find with an excited bark. What was _he_ so happy about? Not like he could bite a ghost…

“There’s nothing out here. And waiting until nightfall is pointless when we can investigate inside. Let’s go,” Aeyrin gave him a shrug, opening the ancient carved metal door slowly.

“Yeah… at least this time we don’t need to babysit that whiny ice-brain. I really hope all we find inside will be corpses…”

* * *

* _Kink warning : mouth-gag_


	79. The Haunted Barrow

“Well, what do you know, completely plundered...”

Bishop grumbled as they made their way towards the third chamber of the ruins. There was nothing inside besides dust and cobwebs. Not even a ghost…

“There might still be a Wall here…” Aeyrin shrugged, leading them further on encouragingly.

“You think someone can take those from you? You know… like if some other Dragonborn from before came and… umm… sucked up the Word… would you still be able to see it?” Bishop pondered after a while. It wouldn’t surprise him if even a potential Wall would be depleted in this place.

“I… I don’t know… I guess not… right? I mean… it’s… words… I can still read them after someone else does…” she gave him an uncomfortable look. That didn’t seem possible… hopefully.

“Yeah, but the glowing and the drumming stops when you read it, right? Like with the old fossils? You said they made the glowing symbols too to teach you the Words. And then they disappeared. How would you even know what to read if the glowing was gone? And I doubt just ‘reading’ works. You read the dragon language in that book of yours too and nothing comes of it.”

He did make some good points. But it was unnerving to think about. Did he really have to make her self-conscious about _that_ too?

“Well… weren’t the Walls made _for_ the Dragonborn? I assumed they… used them in the first place. Maybe the Walls make the Words reappear? Why else would they be in these dungeons?” she cringed. Yeah… that made sense… Hopefully she was right.

But this only made her think about just how little she still knew.

She hoped Delphine’s search for the lore master would bear fruit soon. He sounded like someone who could actually finally help with her lack of knowledge.

Maybe they should have helped her get him out of the Ratway…

But then again, the idea of getting entangled with Mercer’s favors again was definitely not tempting.

Besides, Bishop gave her good instructions.

She’d be fine…

They continued onwards when finally, they noticed more ectoplasm on the ground. There really _were_ ghosts.

“You know… we don’t have an enchanted weapon…” Bishop stopped suddenly, looking over the glowing goo on the ground.

“R-right… I just thought…” Aeyrin bit her lip nervously, trailing off.

“You thought we could talk to the ghosts, right?” he smirked at her, folding his arms across his chest. This idea suddenly felt too shortsighted.

“Well… yeah… do you want to leave?” she asked uncertainly. She talked to ghosts a lot in the temple, but they didn’t know what they were getting into here. It was probably the safer bet. But maybe they didn’t need an enchanted weapon. She could still Shout…

“And come back to the inn with our tails between our legs? Yeah right… not like we’re helpless…” Bishop scoffed, brandishing his shortsword in the close quarters of the narrow hallway they were traversing. It would be useless against a ghost, but maybe some draugr would pop out at them. Better safe than sorry.

Aeyrin nodded, gripping her mace firmly in her hand.

They continued towards an intersection, heading to the left. When they reached another small chamber a sudden uneasy feeling struck them.

Before they managed to look around the room, a loud raspy shriek startled them.

“Intruders!!! This is my barrow!”

A bright glowing translucent man lunged at them. His voice was oddly… alive. There was a distinctive lack of the echo which graced the voices of all the ghosts they have encountered before.

In panic, Aeyrin swung her mace towards the assailant with a yell. Not that it would help… it was a ghost.

But shockingly, the weapon made contact.

The sound of crackling bones resounded through the chamber as a spray of blood splashed over them.

The ghost slumped to the ground, his body slowly and gradually taking form and color before their eyes.

“What the fuck?” Bishop stared at the now very solid corpse. It was a Dunmer, dressed in robes. The soles of his boots were covered with sticky ectoplasm.

“That… that was no ghost…” Aeyrin breathed out, the shock at the man’s presence slowly subsiding.

They stated to look around the room, wary of another pretend ghost lunging at them from the shadows as they looked behind every shelf and into every urn, just to be safe. There was a surprisingly vast stock of little bowls filled with ectoplasm on one of the shelves. There were also some rather prominently displayed unlabeled potions, swirling with blue and violet fluid.

“Look! Another one of those… claw… thingies!” Aeyrin retrieved the strange claw from a dusty chest as Bishop rifled through a small book he found on the stone table. The claw was beautiful – the stone palm was decorated in black carvings, just like any ancient Nordic style, but the talons seemed to be made from pure cut sapphire. The golden one they helped retrieve so long ago was rather impressive looking, but this was something else… the gems glittered mesmerizingly even in the murky dungeon.

“Looks like the elf was looking for it at first, but didn’t want to be beaten to the punch. He made a potion to make himself look like a ghost to scare off villagers from this place,” Bishop muttered, still peering into the small book, turning the pages. “Staying here seems to have made him go nuts… he found the claw but didn’t remember what he wanted it for…” he chuckled slightly. What an idiotic way to die…

“That’s awful… If he didn’t attack, we could have helped him…” she sighed, looking over the Dunmer’s corpse, his face mangled from the heavy blow of her mace.

“Yeah, well, he _did_ attack. And now we have that,” Bishop smirked, pointing at the claw. It did look like a promising eventuality of hidden loot further in.

They stashed the odd unfamiliar potions that the elf made, heading onward.

…

“Moth… Owl… Wolf”

Aeyrin looked over the claw while Bishop moved the rings of the puzzle door around according to her instructions.

Karnwyr has been growling right by the door, leaning towards the ground, ready to pounce. It was a good sign – it meant that something was behind it. And if there were ancient undead roaming around, there were also some of their treasures inside.

Aeyrin handed Bishop the claw once he was done and he inserted it into the slot, stashing it immediately and readying his bow. He moved back behind her swiftly to let her charge in first.

She _was_ planning on finally practicing…

“YOL!”

The draugr in front of her lit up in flames, shambling to the ground. The large chamber in front of them was now blessedly empty, with only the sound of dissipating flames and snapping bones echoing through their surroundings.

“Damn… leave some for me, ladyship. Can’t let you have all the fun,” Bishop smirked at her, ruffling her hair as he passed by her to scour the chamber for traps.

“You get plenty as it is… you don’t even let me charge them half of the time, shooting everything before I can get there…” she laughed at him and headed eagerly towards a tempting looking chest. Finally they might find something useful… or valuable.

True to their suspicions, the further chambers really held some long forgotten treasures.

Well, not anymore.

At least the people in Ivarstead wouldn’t have to live with the fear of draugr and ghosts right next to their village any longer.

They continued through the dungeon, the ambiance certainly more lively… or… well… more undeadly than before with all the draugr around. The loot was definitely worthwhile though. They had plenty to eventually be able to even afford some new equipment. Perhaps even to have their weapons enchanted. The near-ghost encounter was a bit of a wakeup call.

They continued through the ruins in relative ease, filled with vigor and adrenaline from the conquered battles and good finds.

…

They were nearing the final chambers, they could already tell.

They’ve been through enough of these ancient barrows to know the signs. The battles became more difficult and the traps more numerous.

Eventually, they reached a very narrow suspended ledge near the ceiling of large chamber. There was a way to walk down at the end of the ledge, but below them in the chamber a large group of skeletons huddled together idly.

The undead didn’t notice them yet and Bishop’s eyes fell on the large glistening puddle right below them, playing with swirling colors. There was a broken oil lamp above the skeletons – the fluid must have poured down.

If they could get down undetected, Aeyrin could set them all aflame and snuff them out like it was nothing.

Bishop gave her a confident smirk, bow at the ready just in case, while he snuck across the high ledge. He looked at the undead below. They didn’t suspect a thing. Aeyrin followed him as quietly as she could manage, doing rather well, considering her heavy armor and her… unsubtleness. Karnwyr stayed a little way behind, ready to charge if they got detected.

Bishop was halfway over the ledge already. Aeyrin was really surprisingly quiet while sneaking. She was never good at this shit – especially with her armor constantly clanking over the underchain. It was a bit… suspicious that there was no sound to be heard behind his back.

He should check on her…

Aeyrin’s eyebrows shot upwards when he turned around a bit to look at her for some unknown reason…

Then she noticed it.

There was a large log fastened to the ceiling, suddenly moving. A sound echoed through the cavern, as if a stone or a tile was shifting.

The heavy log was heading straight towards Bishop.

“WULD!”

…

All Bishop could process was the sudden heavy impact.

He noticed her widened eyes, his foot slowly lowering along with a stony tile.

Shit! Did he really miss a trap?!

Then there was the Shout and after that only dull throbbing pain all over his body.

He managed to open his eyes, his body splayed on hers as she lay on the ground.

Fuck, that was quite a fall… she must have toppled them together all the way to the ground, throwing them away from the trap’s trajectory.

He heard the shuffling of bones just as she tried to sit up shakily, pulling him along with her while his weight still pinned her down. She ended up only managing to support herself a little on her elbows, still mostly lying on the ground. A loud groan escaped her lips when she her arms shook with effort, holding both of their forms up a bit.

She was reacting so fast. His body was still throbbing in shock and pain from the impact.

But the sound made it all too clear. The skeletons have noticed them.

Aeyrin’s vision cleared after the flurry of the events, steadying on the shambling undead approaching them.

They weren’t close enough for melee range but they started to shuffle towards the two of them and several of them pulled out bows.

Dammit, what now?!

Her eyes fell on the glistening ground close to where they were still lying. They couldn’t fight. They couldn’t even get off of each other fast enough, their bodies entangled, battered and bruised.

There was no other way.

She could do it.

She _knew_ she could do it.

Just like in the courtyard of High Hrothgar, there was this certainty, this confidence.

There was a feeling of ease and the awareness of this strange… synergy between her and her powers.

She was in control.

Her hand snapped from below her body painfully, her other arm shaking violently while trying to hold them both up. She pushed him down onto herself, shoving him towards her shoulder roughly and holding his head down in the crook of it.

“YOL!”

Bishop’s eyes went wide, the heat pooling sweat on his back, making it cling stickily to his clothes.

She was right there, aiming at their entangled bodies. The Shout hit him… he was sure of it, it was the obvious trajectory…

But… he knew that she would never risk it… she would never endanger him with her powers.

There was no pain aside from the echoes of the impact. The sound of quickly spreading crackling flames and clattering of bones filled his ears almost instantly.

His head rose uncertainly, the dull pain in his entire body finally easing a bit after the initial impact reaction subsided. His eyes met hers with palpable shock in them.

He turned his head slightly, the corner of his eye catching the carnage and wild flames only a stone’s throw away from their splayed bodies.

“Are you alright?! I didn’t hit you, right? I knew I wouldn’t! I know it was… risky… but I… knew… I knew I wouldn’t hurt you!” her hand flew back to his face forcing him to look back at her, her eyes half panicky and half… proud and confident.

He straightened himself a bit, straddling her legs to keep his weight from her torso and allowing her to sit up to face him.

His lips captured hers almost instinctively, his hands shot up to cup her face, ignoring the pain from the impact and the tightening leather from the nearby heat.

“That was… fucking amazing!“ he chuckled after he left her lips, his breath tickling her face with how close he still was. “ _You_ were fucking amazing!”

She giggled at him before they shared one more deep heated kiss, the relief and excitement washing over them.

They disentangled from each other slowly, with effort, their entire bodies aching from their fall. Karnwyr ran over to them with a worried bark once the flames started to dissipate with no kindling in sight, but Bishop only laughed heartily at him, ruffling his fur amicably.

They sat on the ground, still a bit dumbfounded, shuffling around in their packs for healing potions to numb the pain in their bruised bodies.

“I can’t fucking believe you pulled that off… that was so… amazing…” he smirked, still repeating the same word, shaking his head. Not that he didn’t know how capable she was, but managing to control the Shout so precisely, especially right after that fall…

“ _You_ on the other hand…” Aeyrin laughed at him teasingly, giving him a mock admonishing look.

“It was your damn fault! You’re… distracting…” he gave her a wry smile. If he wasn’t so worried about how quiet she was, he wouldn’t have turned around and he would have noticed that trap. Then again, he did feel kind of guilty for underestimating her so much. But part of their tactic _was_ always knowing the other’s shortcomings. He needed to count on her inability to sneak around, just like she counted on the fact that if he got surrounded by enemies, he’d be fucked.

“Please don’t tell me you missed a trap because you were ogling me…” she snickered at him, downing the potion and getting herself up from the ground. It didn’t look like anything was broken – her armor must have broken a lot of the fall… and a lot of Bishop’s weight landing on her. She was likely mostly just sore and bruised.

He pondered for a while, getting himself up alongside her. It felt like some smaller bones in his hand were broken – the dull pain was numbed but still present at the back of his mind and a strange tingling and pressure was under the skin of his hand. His little finger wouldn’t move. Other than that… he was surprisingly preserved. She must have broken a lot of his fall. He would have felt sorry for crushing her… but he was still stunned by the whole feat, and this only made it more impressive.

Especially after he only checked on her because he doubted her competence at that point.

He wondered if he should mention why he turned around, but he suddenly felt so guilty for it.

“Yeah well… not my fault that you can pull off even the tin prison you walk around in,” he smirked instead, hugging her over her shoulder and planting a kiss at the top of her head.

“Ready to end this?”

…

“I can hear it! Let’s go! We need to hurry!”

Aeyrin exclaimed the second she heard the faint drumming in her ear.

“Right. You know the drill,” he nodded determinedly, bow ready in hand as he notched an arrow immediately. At least none of the fingers he needed for aiming were unusable.

They stormed the room.

There were two draugr archers at sides, aiming at them immediately. A large sarcophagus was at the back of the room, right in front of the Wall. It was likely that a powerful draugr was inside, he needed to make sure it stayed away from her.

He took care of the archers easily while she ran towards the Wall in a hurry.

She darted around the sarcophagus, vaguely registering the telltale snap of the stony lid. The draugr was awake, but it didn’t matter now. Bishop had her back and she just needed to get to the Wall.

She stopped in front of it, peering at the words.

_KAAN_

Bishop aimed at the creature.

It was vaguely familiar – he felt like they’ve seen it before but he couldn’t place it.

It was a draugr but it… floated through air, a metal mask on its face and purple rags all over its skeleton.

He shot an arrow straight at its skull, getting the thing’s attention. It hit the mask, but clanked to the ground with no damage done whatsoever.

Fuck he hated shooting the bony shits – when its skull was protected, there was not much space to maneuver. Well… maybe the spine would do it…

He took aim but suddenly that thing’s hand lit up with flames, a large fiery orb hurling at him at great speed a second later.

He tumbled to the ground, the flames grazing his leg. The leather of his boot sizzled against his calf, sticking to it unpleasantly.

Fuck… now he would need to fix the boots…

His leg kind of burned, but he collected himself up from the ground promptly. The potion was still in his system – it would pass soon enough.

Karnwyr looked ready to charge, growling next to him, but Bishop threw him a warning look. Just because the wolf killed one powerful mage, didn’t mean he would get the chance every time. The creature would target him without a doubt. Bishop needed to keep its attention on himself until Aeyrin recovered – she would help get it down right after.

He hit an arrow right into its spine. Great!

Or not…

That thing didn’t even flinch. What the fuck was that?

Another arrow swished into the spine, but still, no effect.

He growled in frustration, notching another arrow when he noticed its hands light up with flames again.

“KRII!”

The loud Shout staggered it, an ominous red glow enveloping its body.

They still had no idea what the Shout actually did, but it seemed effective for some reason.

His next arrow flew into its head again, this time, the mask shattered into a million pieces, the arrow pierced its head all the way through, making the creature topple down in one fell swoop.

Finally!

He rushed towards her, limping slightly with his burned leg and a little unsettled by how useless he actually was today whenever they got into a rough situation.

“So… what’d you get?” he grinned at her as she pulled out her book on dragon language, searching for the new Word.

“Hmm… it means…. Kyne…” she frowned at the translation. Kyne? As in Kynareth? What was that supposed to mean?

“Please don’t tell me you’ll be summoning Aedra now…” Bishop gave her a lopsided smirk, moving some distance away so that she could try it out.

She was surprisingly nervous… most of the Shouts had some… more or less clear intent behind the translation. This… she couldn’t even imagine what it was supposed to mean.

Oh! Maybe she’d sprout flowers from the stony ground! That would be so pretty! And she could make everything so beautiful…

Damn, she sounded like a child… that was probably _not_ how the ancient Dragonborn spent their time…

When Bishop and Karnwyr were a reasonably safe distance away, she turned away from them, making sure they were not in the potential trajectory, and braced herself.

“KAAN!”

Nothing?

She looked around in confusion.

Nothing was happening. Not even the flowers, much to her great disappointment.

Wait, what was that?

Her eyes went wide and she rushed over to them, looking over Karnwyr worriedly.

A soft green light enveloped him, just like the red glow around the draugr mage.

Oh Gods! What has she done?!

They both knelt down by the wolf in panic, examining him frantically.

“Karnwyr? Karnwyr, I’m so sorry! What’s happening?” her hands were shaking in shock, the light still enveloping the wolf while he tilted his head for a while as if confused.

A second later, his maw opened wide, making them both flinch and throw him wary looks.

He yawned…

The wolf lay himself on the stony ground, his maw hiding under his paws, his eyes closing slowly.

“Oh no! What’s happening?! Karnwyr!” Aeyrin yelled out, feeling herself at the verge of tears. What in Oblivion has she done to him? Was he slowly dying?

Bishop felt around the wolf’s neck and abdomen frantically, his brows creased into a deep worried scowl. After a second though, his brows shot up in surprise.

“He’s… asleep…” he said uncertainly, the light green glow slowly fading from the wolf’s body.

“Hey, Karnwyr, wake up,” Bishop nudged him firmly, making the wolf open his eyes and yawn again. He stood up on his paws, giving them almost a wry smile and waiting for them to move onward, as if nothing happened.

“I… think he’s fine…” Bishop looked over him once more as a deep sigh of relief escaped Aeyrin’s mouth.

“A-are you sure? I mean… we might just not see the damage…” she realized herself a second later. The relief may have been premature.

“You feeling fine?” he looked at Karnwyr and the wolf barked happily in response, wagging his tail.

“See? Completely fine… Maybe we can try it on a different animal, we’ll see what it does better,” he placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly as she slowly calmed herself down.

“I hope so… this was… we need to take more precautions…” she sighed sadly. Just as she thought she had things under control, another blow to her confidence was around the corner.

“Please, after what you pulled today… it’s obvious you just need to train a bit more. You’ll know exactly how to control all the Shouts in a while,” he winked at her, eliciting a small smile from her. She hoped he was right… she felt so good after controlling the flames to spare him from them.

And Karnwyr really _did_ look unharmed.

Well… there was nothing to do now than wait for potential consequences. Or finding an opportunity to see what it actually does.

“Now, princess, let’s see what other treasures we can scrounge up here.”


	80. Reminiscing

_ Author’s Note: _

_Happy holidays, my dear readers :)_

_I hope you all celebrate whatever it is you celebrate this time of year with lots of happiness and love all around. Enjoy your holidays as best as you can, considering the circumstances, and stay safe, all of you._

_And make some memories._

_Aeyrin and Bishop certainly made a lot of them before and after they met – this chapter is a little about both ;)_

_Hope you enjoy <3_

* * *

They left Ivarstead behind rather late the next morning.

After returning from the barrow, they gave Lynly the journal of the ‘ghost’, reassuring her that there were no more threats from the ruins to their village. She was eager to hear what happened and eventually, they ended up telling their tale to an entire tavern-full of enraptured listeners.

Well… save for some details about how Aeyrin got them from the sticky situations. She was certainly not eager to have the crowd know for certain that she was the Dragonborn.

They celebrated their success more privately afterwards, sleeping in almost until noon after their exertions.

Their next destination lay right across Lake Geir – Nilheim.

They were headed towards Darkwater Crossing. Aeyrin wrapped up Bishop’s hand but, with his little finger broken, she couldn’t really do more than ensure that it wasn’t misaligned. His burned calf wasn’t completely healed either, but luckily the boot got the worst of it. Sondas would surely be able to help though, and any lingering bruises or contusions would be easy to take care of for him. They could also sell some meat and pelts while they were on a roll with gaining funds. The broken tower was a good place for hunting. Besides, it sounded like a nice idea to visit it again and relax there for a while. They both had good memories of the place.

They took the southern road towards Nilheim, traversing to the other bank of the Treva River near the old fort they helped liberate from bandits long ago.

It was only slightly past noon when they reached the old crumbled tower and climbed up the stairs to the wooden platform.

Bishop took out his bow, ready if he spotted any prey, but he mainly just sent Karnwyr to hunt for some critters alone and bring them the haul. He was more interested in lazing atop the tower with Aeyrin.

Karnwyr looked a bit dejected. Well… Bishop _was_ neglecting their hunts lately, letting him go off alone for the majority of times. He was… busy.

“I think he’s lonely… you are a bad friend,” Aeyrin chuckled at Bishop teasingly while the wolf walked away with his head low and Bishop sat himself beside her on the platform, settling with his arm draping over her.

“He’s just being needy… I’ll go with him next time,” Bishop grumbled, rolling his eyes. Truth was, he _did_ feel a bit guilty about letting him take care of the hunting by himself lately. And he _did_ miss their excursions to some extent.

But the alternative was just so… irresistible.

Bishop leaned his head towards her, nuzzling into her hair, his teeth nipping teasingly on the tip of her pointed ear, which elicited a pleased murmur from her.

She huddled closer to him, her hand resting comfortably on his thigh, stroking over the leather of his black armor, playing with the buckles.

“You never told me how you and Karnwyr actually met… just that it was here…” she mused idly, her fingers, clad in her underchain, tapping lightly on his leg.

“Yeah…” Bishop paused, running the back of his hand over the side of her neck slowly.

His brows creased for a while. This was a dangerous topic. If he told her about Karnwyr and about…

Fuck… he was _so_ tired of this.

All the lies, all the secrets. He knew he couldn’t tell her everything. He had to protect her from Thorn.

But he was getting so obsessive over this. If there was _one_ person in this world who would understand, who wouldn’t judge him, he was sure it was her.

And in that moment he wanted her to know him. Not everything, but… at least some of it. The things that wouldn’t put her in jeopardy. The things that didn’t admit that he was lying to her. The things that maybe weren’t so… bad.

He always thought that carrying this shit alone was a necessity. Maybe because he never had anyone who would just listen, never had anyone who _wanted_ to know him.

“At that time…” he started, taking a deep breath, “Jules and I have just arrived in Skyrim. We had nothing and we weren’t exactly… trained in much else than occasional hunting and… well not anything exactly… legal…” he scoffed. He never really concerned himself with laws and shit like that, but even he could tell when too much was just… too much. It wasn’t like he was particularly enjoying banditry, but it was all they knew at that time.

“Anyway… we kind of stumbled into an… opportunity I guess. A… bandit clan took us in,” he stopped for a spell, bracing himself for her reaction.

He felt her pull away slightly from him, her hand stopping its lazy movements over his leg, dropping at her side instead. He didn’t meet her eyes for a time but he could feel her gaze. He was sure it was filled with uncertainty and trepidation.

“We barely got away from our family and we didn’t really… have any other skillsets…” he sighed, shaking his head. “And it wasn’t as if anyone was exactly looking for two dingy homeless kids for a paying job,” he gave her a weak smirk, still not looking directly at her.

“It wasn’t so bad… it was mostly raids on other bandit clans and sometimes robbing people on the road. We didn’t even kill anyone unless they attacked…” he tried to justify it a bit. The years under Sammy were really mild as opposed to what came later. And it was necessary. Necessary for their freedom and necessary to keep Jules alive.

She didn’t speak, but he could feel the crease between her brows. Not like he didn’t know that she wouldn’t approve.

“Jules… he was sick. And this was the only way we could find that provided him with the healing he needed,” he looked down towards the lake – the place he finally found out that there was no helping his brother. The place he found out that no matter how much he did, how much he sacrificed, how much he groveled and did everything any given scum of the Nirn ordered him to, he would never actually find a cure for him.

“It was… fine… for a time… but he was getting worse. I actually came here, looking for a witch who worked for the clan, to get her to heal him. That’s when I met Karnwyr. She was looking over some cubs and their mother… bred for the pits. The pup kinda… took to me, I guess,” a slight fond smile spread across his lips. From the moment he and Karnwyr met, there was an odd connection between them.

“Anyway… things kinda turned to shit gradually then… the clans started warring and the… underlings… were shoved around from one dickhead to another for a time…” _until Thorn came_ …

“Getting out of all that shit wasn’t exactly easy. Eventually, it took Mercer, taking us under his protection, to get away from that life…” until Bishop fucked things up, that is.

He stopped there. The things that happened after were too dangerous for her curiosity. She would without a doubt ask too many questions about Thorn if she knew there was a bandit clan still threatening him and those close to him.

They both remained silent for a while, their closeness suddenly gone, even though they sat next to each other, both of them staring at the shimmering lake in contemplation.

None of it was that bad, right? She wouldn’t really condemn him for trying to survive… for trying to help his brother…

“So… you really didn’t… kill people for their things… or you know… kidnap people to ransom them and stuff like that?” she shuffled her thumbs a bit. It was somewhat disheartening imagining him in those situations… She knew he didn’t have an easy life, but the bandits she met up until now never really gave her the impression that they had any conscience whatsoever.

“It was… more profitable to just rob people. If you kill a merchant, he won’t come back with more goods later, right? And taking over another clan was even better… it got the clan new people and all their stuff… generally, most bandits just kill each other and don’t bother with the civilians. Too much hassle if the guards take notice anyways…” he sighed.

That was the way under most of the bosses he managed to live through. But eventually, things got worse. And it wasn’t just what they did to people… the way Thorn treated his own men and women was sickening.

There was another long moment of silence.

Aeyrin’s mind was now more concerned with other things than how sketchy his past really was. Was it like that for most of the bandits they killed? Were they just making the best out of a bad situation? Just trying to survive, or help their families? It was somewhat concerning…

Or maybe Bishop was different… she could see it even at the Guild… he was the one unable to stand for Mercer’s abuse, while the others just gritted their teeth and let it happen.

Master Therien always warned her that the world wasn’t as black and white as the religious texts painted it, but if she had to think about the lives of every criminal and bandit they encountered, she would hardly manage to help anyone at all by leaving them all be, just in case.

She was glad that she didn’t meet Bishop back then. Who knew how it could have ended?

“What about Jules? Did the witch cure him?” she asked after a while, their eyes finally meeting. There was deep sorrow palpable in his as he shook his head.

“There was no cure… his father was a Khajiit… apparently even his conception should have been impossible. But she did care for him for a time… kept him relatively healthy.”

She laced her fingers in his after a bit, noticing the grateful smile on his face.

“Is that how he…?” she broached the subject carefully. It was plain to see that he was still struggling with his brother’s death. She wondered how long ago it happened.

“No… he was… killed in battle. But by then… it wouldn’t have been long…” he furrowed his brows, his eyes darting towards the chain on her neck, the ring at its end hidden under her armor for safekeeping.

Her thumb grazed over the back of his leather glove. There was not much they could feel through their equipment, but she hoped he would appreciate the gesture.

His family must have been just as bad as her father, if not worse, to leave their children thinking there was no other option in their life than to resort to banditry. The way he put it, it didn’t sound as bad as she would expect bandit life to be. The ones they encountered either attacked them on sight, or threatened them with other stuff. And she’s always heard horror stories of bandit clans ransacking settlements and kidnapping nobles and such.

But it wasn’t as if she didn’t do some… awful things at those times when she thought she had no other choice. It took someone showing her there was another way. If she never met Master Therien, who knew how much worse it could have gotten.

Their contemplation got interrupted by a deer, scampering towards the lake to take a sip of the crystalline water.

Bishop disentangled himself from her, grabbing his bow and felling it in one shot, despite the sharp pain that shot through his finger as he drew it.

That along with Karnwyr’s haul would provide them with a decent amount of money from the village, even with the healing, but they could still wait for another one.

They both descended the tower together to work on stripping the meat from the bones and stashing it into food sacks.

“So… what are you thinking?” Bishop asked her uncertainly as they worked in silence, cutting off the chunks of meat from the animal carcass with the occasional twitch of pain from his injured finger.

“I’m… not sure… I… don’t like imagining you as a bandit… and I really don’t like thinking about how many of them we killed and… who could they have been…” she shook her head, focusing on the corpse below her hands rather than on him.

“Yeah… you know… we really mostly just… stumbled into it. Most of the people in the clans… well… a lot of them chose that life. A lot of them wanted to do even worse… There _were_ some people that got there just by some bad circumstances and wanted out, but… well those weren’t the people that would generally attack you on sight…” he sighed, tying up one food sack and opening up another for them to fill.

It was a bit comforting that he and his brother were mostly an exception… it still gave her an oddly uncomfortable feeling in her gut when she thought of him in a bandit clan, but rationally, she had no reason to be upset over it. She knew the man he was now… and even from what he told her, it sounded like all he was ever doing was surviving and protecting his brother, despite the things he participated in.

It was somewhat heartwarming in that situation.

She gave him a somewhat uncertainly warm smile after a while, making sure that he knew she wasn’t concerned about his past. Uncomfortable, certainly, but not concerned.

Bishop instinctively smiled back, his hand darting to her cheek to stroke over it fondly… accidentally leaving a rather prominent blood smear on her face and bits of her hair.

…

They managed to kill one more deer before Karnwyr returned victoriously with a couple of rabbit carcasses in his maw. After some more time, they were ready to head towards Darkwater Crossing at last.

Before they left, however, Bishop and Aeyrin shared one more kiss by the tower in the glow of the setting sun – for old times’ sake.

When they reached the mining village, the residents were already gathered around the fire for the eve, greeting them excitedly.

“Well, if it isn’t my rescuers again,” Derkeethus gave them a warm smile, ushering some of the villagers to make room for them by the fire.

“We’re heading to Sondas first… but you better prepare ‘your rescuers’ something better than… whatever _that_ is,” Bishop smirked at the Argonian, pointing towards the large pot of vegetable stew on the communal fire. He dropped the food sacks by the fire, knowing that the villagers wouldn’t try to short-change him after they returned. He had plenty of experience with dealing with them, and besides, Derkeethus was still too grateful to let anyone steal from them.

They entered Sondas’s house together, calling the old Dunmer to them.

“Again? You two don’t seem so good at this whole adventuring thing… might wanna rethink that…” Sondas snorted at them while they removed their armor, showing him the bruises, burns and the fracture.

“What happened this time?” the Dunmer sighed, looking over Bishop’s finger, now all swollen because he didn’t bother keeping it safe – he was gonna get healing anyways and Aeyrin could hardly hunt down a deer without scaring it to death before she even got to it.

“A dragon toppled me,” Bishop laughed, earning a derisive scoff from Aeyrin.

“Amateur… didn’t you see it coming? They’re pretty big,” Sondas gave him a wry smirk, shaking his head.

The healing didn’t take much time, Sondas really knew what he was doing. Aeyrin asked him curiously if he could teach her some useful spells to better her healing, but he brushed her off, saying that he ‘didn’t have time to teach children too dumb to know how not to get wounded’. As insulting as it was, he _did_ tell her that they usually take in anyone willing to learn at the College of Winterhold.

They left the house not even an hour later. Arriving to a dinner already laid out and waiting for them, and the miners eager for their stories of adventures, as well as an excited wolf playing with Hrefna.

“Mister hunter, elf lady! Did you know that there was a dragon flying over the pools?” the girl waved at them excitedly, pointing towards the dry tundra of Eastmarch, barely visible in the moonlight behind the sparse trees.

She looked so thrilled… the last time they spoke to her, she seemed terrified of the prospect of dragons.

“There was? When?” Aeyrin peered at the tundra worriedly. She remembered the large number of empty burial grounds they found during their stay there. And ever since the ordeal near Solitude, she was much warier of what another soul would do to her. Maybe there was some kind of limit on how much her body could take. That was a daunting prospect.

“A week or so ago… there were others before too! I was really scared at first, but they don’t hurt us. And they’re really pretty when they fly!” Hrefna clasped her hands wistfully. The village was so lucky to be spared from an attack next to a veritable breeding ground.

Wait… ‘breeding ground’?

Did dragons even breed? Divines, she hoped not!

Some of the religious texts said that they were eternal – the aspect of Akatosh that has always been and will always be… but the men of ancient times managed to slay them all, earning the God’s disfavor. But religious texts were sadly often… inaccurate about history, ascribing everything to the will of the Aedra overly meticulously.

Whatever the truth was, it was obvious that the dragon that Hrefna saw was long gone. Maybe they would run into some at the tundra on their way back to Windhelm.

They told the curious villagers a few stories from their travels and Aeyrin played some songs again, before they were lulled into sleep by the relaxed atmosphere. It _was_ getting pretty late and they were somewhat eager to get to the tundra the next day.

The pools were beckoning them already.

…

“You know, today is the fifteenth…”

Aeyrin pondered as she shifted in Bishop’s lap, her back pressed closely to him, his arms around her, occasionally stroking over her wet skin while the warm sulfuric water sloshed gently around them.

“So?” he chuckled, leaning his head on her shoulder lazily. His hand moved to brush and pull softly at the wet strand of her hair laying over her breast.

“Today’s the North Winds Prayer. We used to celebrate and hold special sermons every year at the temple. I even returned each time for the occasion after I left. This is the first time I’m not there…” she sighed wistfully, looking over the cloudy night skies.

“Don’t tell me _this_ isn’t more fun,” Bishop snickered, biting into her shoulder teasingly.

She swatted at his cheek with a scoff, a smile tugging at her lips while she shook her head: “Please, don’t compare yourself to the temple.”

“Why not? I bet you call out to your Gods way more often with me,” he laughed, earning both an eye roll and a barely subdued giggle from her as her cheeks flushed. How did his comments still make her blush? She would have thought she’d build up some resilience by now…

They stayed silent for a while. Aeyrin was still watching the skies, relaxing in his embrace while he played with her hair over her breasts idly, both of them too tired to engage in any more ministrations. It must have been pretty late already. They have stayed in the pool for hours, but it was the best place to keep warm in the tundra.

“You miss it?” he asked after a while, noticing her expression still deep in thought.

“Sometimes… I don’t regret leaving but… I would have liked to at least know I can return and talk to the people there every once in a while. But with the state things are now… I don’t think I’ll be crossing the border again anytime soon,” she sighed. The last time certainly deterred her from crossing too often. And besides, now she’d just feel… guilty. Abandoning Skyrim to the dragons, even for a while only to seek personal comfort, seemed like a selfish thing to do.

“You can still write,” Bishop shrugged in response.

“Yeah… and I don’t think about returning as much as I used to back in Cyrodiil,” she gave him a warm smile, turning her head slightly towards him. “Maybe because I’m not alone all the time anymore…”

Bishop squeezed her tighter in his embrace, kissing her while her face was turned to him.

Another bout of comfortable silence ensued in a while. It was such a contrast from the unpleasant minutes when he told her about his bandit days.

“I don’t really go to temples, but I don’t think they celebrate that North Winds thing here…” he pondered after a while. He’s never heard of it, but then again, if he did, he likely wouldn’t retain that information. The thought of hurrying to Windhelm in the morning crossed his mind, but he wasn’t exactly sure what day it actually _was._ It may have been after midnight. Did she mean the previous day or this one? He never really kept track of these things, but she liked planning things a lot more than him. Knowing the date likely went with that.

“It’s not surprising… I was just thinking if I actually had a reason to celebrate…” she smirked, giggling a little as she continued. “It is a thanksgiving to the Divines for a bountiful harvest… and a _mild_ winter.”

Bishop laughed, adding with a teasing tone: “This _is_ mild.”

She groaned, turning her head to the side again and placing it on his shoulder.

When she got here, she never even imagined that she would stay until winter, and certainly not for more than one!

But right then, she couldn’t imagine ever leaving.


	81. Order

_ Author’s note: _

_Happy new year, everyone!_

_I hope you all celebrated (or still will celebrate, depending on the time zone :D ) the ending of 2020 in your own way and I sincerely hope that 2021 will be a much better year for everyone._

_I want to thank you all yet again for your continued support and readership. Each one of you has made this year a little brighter for me and I hope my story did the same for you._

_So, without further ado, with new year comes a new plotline._

_Enjoy :) <_ _3_

* * *

“Why was he laughing like that?”

Aeyrin looked back nervously towards the city gates. The strangely malicious laughter, which the guard on the other side of it let out at the sight of her, was still echoing in her head.

Windhelm was as drab as ever as then monochrome streets spread before them. The Nords, clad in warm furs, were scurrying around as Stormcloak soldiers stood at attention at almost every corner. The atmosphere seemed a bit more… tense than the last time they visited. People seemed in a rush to get where they were going, no one was strolling around or standing about idly. It was as if they all wanted to escape the dismal streets. Was it because of the soldiers? They seemed to be everywhere.

“Don’t know… but I don’t like it. This place feels weirder...” Bishop scowled, looking around the grey streets with narrowed eyes. Not even the sounds of laughter and drunken revelry could be heard from the Candlehearth Hall.

His eyes rested on a wooden notice board by the inn with numerous parchments nailed to it. Strange… that wasn’t there before, was it? And if it was, it’s always been empty. He would have noticed it otherwise.

They approached the new sight, looking over the myriad of papers plastered all over it. Many of them seemed made by the same person, all written in bold capital letters, drawing their attention immediately.

.

_BEWARE THE BUTCHER!_

_._

Aeyrin’s eyes roamed over the number of parchments with the same content, not even registering the more elaborate and official looking notes on the board.

“What did the butcher do?” she pondered, looking at a crude drawing on a small paper in the corner. It was depicting a small stick figure with what appeared a knife, held above another figure with crosses in place of its eyes.

“I’d be more concerned about this one…” Bishop grumbled, looking over one of the official notices.

.

_By the order of the True High King Ulfric Stormcloak,_

_due to the findings regarding the pending investigation of the recent incidents in our city, all the potential suspects of the heinous crimes committed on the people of Windhelm are strictly forbidden from roaming the streets after sundown. This order pertains to all parts of the city, including the docks and the Grey Quarter._

_Any suspect caught breaking this order will be arrested and questioned until the True High King Ulfric Stormcloak is personally convinced of their innocence. Visitors to the city are not exempt._

_The current list of suspects includes:_

_Any person of Dark Elven heritage_

_Any person of High Elven heritage_

_Any person of Wood Elven heritage_

_Any person of Argonian heritage_

_We thank the people of Windhelm for understanding the precautions and urge every citizen to stay safe._

_Jorlief, Steward to the True High King Ulfric Stormcloak_

_._

“WHAT?!” Aeyrin’s eyes went wide after reading the notice. She could have sworn she heard a snigger echo from the city gate where two soldiers were keeping guard. Was Ulfric really trying to curb the elves and Argonians in his city like that? And what incidents was the note referring to? Did it have something to do with all this ‘butcher’ stuff?

She didn’t even want to imagine what happened to those that were actually caught breaking the order.

“Let’s get to the inn, Susanna probably knows what’s going on,” Bishop suggested after looking over the board for some more information, but finding none.

…

“Finally! I’m sorry… there’s so many people here during daytime now,” Susanna huffed in exhaustion, joining them at their table for her lunch break and fanning herself with her hand dramatically.

She greeted them cheerfully, at first, when they appeared at the door of the inn, but she brushed them off in a minute. She was too busy serving the patrons, so she promised to catch them up when she had a moment to spare.

The inn was surprisingly packed, and oddly warm and stuffy for Windhelm. It was likely because of the amount of people there. They even had to wait for someone to leave to actually have a place to sit.

“It’s been crazy lately. Sometimes the Stormcloaks make announcements here during midday and everyone comes here to see if there’s anything happening. No one even stays here late anymore, only the people who sleep in the rooms are here in the evening,” she sighed, swirling a spoon in her broth lazily.

“What’s happened? And what’s with the… curfew?” Aeyrin cringed, looking at her curiously. Windhelm’s atmosphere was certainly even more tense than before. Every second spent in the city now seemed strangely unsettling.

“So much has happened… things have been really bad lately…” Susanna sighed, taking a deep drink of her mead. “First… there was a murder. Friga Shatter-Shield’s body has been found one morning at the cemetery. She was… mutilated… had no arms and had all these… cuts…” she shook her head with a subdued gag. “It was actually her sister who found her there… poor thing. And a week later, there was another victim. Another young Nord girl, the daughter of one of the richest farmers from the outskirts. She was similarly… disfigured. That’s when the orders started…” her mouth twisted in disgust at the last part, even more so than during her description of the gruesome killings.

“Ulfric himself made a proclamation. Spouting some… _shit_ about how the enemies of the rebellion are trying to undermine powerful families, shatter the Windhelm society. It was pathetic. Another excuse to rile the masses against the elves. The Stormcloaks started handing out a notice about the new order the next day – every resident of the Grey Quarter was supposed to provide an alibi for the night of the Brandy-Mug girl’s murder to the guards. It’s just rumors, but… some say they dragged several Dunmer into the dungeons,” there was a regretful tone in her voice. It was still somewhat surprising to meet someone who saw Ulfric’s games for what they were.

“Then the curfew order followed, along with increased patrols in the Grey Quarter. But the next day there was a third murder. Another young girl… a _Dunmer_ girl. She was a bardess. At times, Elda even let her play here at the inn… after I convinced her to. The girl never wanted to talk to me though… she must have thought… never mind, that’s not important…” Susanna shook her head again, an odd hint of regret was palpable in her eyes as she brushed her long blond hair behind her ear.

“When they found her, I thought that the orders would have to be lifted, that Ulfric would have to admit that the elves weren’t to blame. But all he did was send his steward here to announce that the court’s position is that the Dunmer girl’s death was meant to steer suspicion away from the mer and that everything was still in effect. The tensions have been so high this entire time. A group of people even comes to the Grey Quarter during the day to harass the elves. The Argonians are all but isolated at the docks… their employers even stopped dealing with them for the most parts. A lot of people stay at home at night, even the Nords. Everyone is afraid of something… the Butcher, the elves… the Nords… it’s just…” the desperation in her voice was palpable. She seemed so weary and worn out, it must have been so trying, to be in the middle of this small war, not wanting to take part of the oppression and at the same time worrying about that Butcher. All the victims seemed to be young women and she must have been walking the streets at night – they knew she wasn’t living at the inn… 

“Ugh… please just tell me about your travels or something… I can’t think about this anymore,” she gave them a wry smile, returning to her already cold broth.

“W-wait… so… is Ulfric actually investigating these murders? Aside from harassing elves and Argonians?” Aeyrin asked. She earned an exasperated look from Susanna when she wouldn’t let her change the topic.

“I don’t know… he’s not exactly sharing everything with his citizens. He just has his steward proclaim that things are under control, but a blind Moth Priest would see that they’re not. He merely has his soldiers standing around the streets and bothering passers-by. There’s nothing being done to find the killer, as far as I know…” Susanna sighed again, giving her a miserable look.

Aeyrin’s brows creased in deep thought at that. Bishop could already see the plot she was spinning in her head, wondering how to investigate and evade Ulfric’s interference at the same time.

Fuck, she would get herself killed. Either by the killer or by Ulfric…

“So what exactly happens if we’re outside after sundown?” he grumbled, turning back to Susanna. Hopefully the answer would make Aeyrin realize just how stupid the notion of investigating was. It wasn’t as if they could just go around questioning everyone – patrolling the night streets was likely the only way to get information and that option was hopefully out of the question.

“Nothing to _you_ ,” Susanna scoffed, looking at Bishop, then pointedly turning her gaze at Aeyrin. “But any elf or Argonian caught outside is brought in for questioning. I think that speaks for itself. Although I’m not sure if anyone’s been caught yet. The Dunmer don’t really… talk to me…”

“How does the killer get past all the soldiers to kidnap people? _And_ leave the bodies?” Aeyrin pondered further. It looked like she ignored the comment about Stormcloak ‘questioning’ altogether.

“If anyone knew that…” Susanna chuckled exasperatedly. “There’s really not much to do but hope that the Butcher makes a mistake one day and gets caught…”

“Hmm… maybe we could spend tomorrow night at the cornerclub… see what the elves have to say about all this,” Aeyrin turned her attention to Bishop who only nodded at her with a slight smile. He did hope the mood in the city didn’t bring down the merriment in New Gnisis, as well as the supplies of sujamma. And this option was definitely safer than roaming the streets at night.

“Would you still like to join us? You said that the inn is mostly empty in the evenings anyways…” she asked Susanna. The barmaid had a strangely somber expression when she suggested spending the night at the Grey Quarter.

“I… it’s not that I wouldn’t like to… but… I don’t think the elves would welcome me there…” she sighed, staring into her tankard morosely.

“It’s fine! I’m sure they won’t be so guarded when you’re with us,” Aeyrin smiled at her encouragingly. They looked suspiciously at Bishop too, but they warmed up to him soon enough.

“It’s not just… it’s not just the race thing. Something happened… years ago… one of them got killed… and I think they blame me…” Susanna bit her lower lip nervously, her eyes still on her drink. “When you offered the last time you were here… I thought it’d be an opportunity to explain what happened… but now… with how things are…”

They stayed silent for a while, encouraging her wordlessly to elaborate. She didn’t seem very keep to explain further however, stubbornly staring into her tankard.

“Well… what’s lost if you try? It might actually be the perfect time to mend bridges…” Aeyrin tried to convince her again. Maybe if the elves knew that not every Nord out there hated them, it would help ease the tensions. No matter what happened between them.

“I… I guess I might as well try… it’s not like they can hate me any _more_ …”

…

“It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?”

Aeyrin sighed, dropping her pack heavily on the floor of their room. It was still so early, but the sun was already setting.

“How can that man run this city like that? I’m surprised the elves haven’t revolted yet. Tsss… curfew…” she shook her head in annoyance, looking out the frost-covered window into the grey streets covered in the golden glow of the evening sun.

Bishop stepped behind her, his hands resting on her hips, pressing her against him.

“It’s probably for the best…” he smirked, earning a confused frown from her as she turned her head to him. “Without the curfew, you’d be running around the streets already, trying to make yourself into Butcher bait.”

She gave him an incredulous look, but his scoff assured her that they both already knew the truth.

“Well… _someone_ has to help. And Ulfric makes everything worse! I hate that he gets away with it… I… have to do _something_ ,” she sighed dejectedly. If only she knew what that ‘something’ was. She wasn’t exactly eager to find out what Ulfric’s ‘questioning’ entailed and there was no way she could move around the streets without the soldiers noticing her. She _could_ question some of the citizens, but with the tensions between the races high and the generally empty streets, she doubted that anyone would have seen anything or even felt inclined to share.

“There’s nothing you can do, sweetness. You’d just be giving that ass a reason to try and get rid of you. It’s not like he’s gonna let _all_ his citizens get killed…” Bishop smirked meanly, ushering her from the window towards the bed.

“It’s not funny… who knows how far he’ll let this get so that he has a reason to harass the elves? What if he actually orchestrated the murders just to do this?” she pondered, her brows still creased. She sat herself down on the bed limply, her eyes fastened on the floorboards.

“Now you sound like Delphine…” he smirked at her, shaking his head. “You wanted to go to the temple tomorrow anyway. Just ask the priests. They may have seen the corpses and noticed something. And we’ll see what the elves have to say in the evening. Not much else to do…” It would have been much better to just pack up and leave altogether, but by now, he was under no illusions. He could _never_ convince her to do that.

She shrugged lightly. Asking the priests about the happenings wasn’t a bad idea. She just hoped they weren’t too influenced by Ulfric’s zealotry.

“Now come on, we should turn to something more pleasant. This city is even more depressing than the last time we were here. No reason to wallow in it,” he sat himself beside her, nuzzling into her hair and sliding his hand under her tunic to stroke over her bare back.

She sighed slightly, closing her eyes and concentrating on his touch, rather than on whatever dangers lurked outside the tavern walls. He was right, there was not much more they could do, and certainly nothing they could do that night. They might as well focus on something less dismal.

The inn was so blessedly quiet now. Most of the people left already, the only ones remaining were the two of them, some drunkard staying at the inn and the morose innkeeper back at the downstairs bar. There was no bard’s song echoing through the walls, no laughter and sounds of clattering dishes, just the crackling of the fires. The place was still so uncharacteristically warm from the previous crowd… she almost forgot what actual heat in the air felt like.

After a while of sitting beside each other in silence, her head turned to the side of his neck, kissing the stubbly skin gently. She had no idea why she loved the scratchy feeling of his rough jaw on her lips. And Gods, how she loved the feel of the same stubble all over her body… just thinking about it made her heat up. She draped her hands behind his neck, straddling his lap eagerly, planting her mouth over his in a deep kiss. Her tongue twined with his and her fingers brushed and clenched in the soft hair on the back of his neck.

Bishop didn’t lose any time, draping her shirt over her head quickly as his kissing moved down her jaw, neck and cleavage. Her back arched under the treatment, giving him easier access to her while she let out a low moan. His right hand started to massage her breast and his mouth concentrated on the other one, his left hand sliding down her back into her clothes, gripping at her backside and pressing her closer to him.

She ground herself against him, his eagerness already palpable through their clothing. Her hands moved down to his tunic, yanking it off him almost violently. The heat was rising between them quickly, their breathing turning more ragged, their movements far more frantic.

She leaned into him, her hands folding against his chest and pushing him down onto the bed as she shifted on his lap, allowing her access to the fastenings of his trousers. She tangled with the strings for a while before she managed to free him from the confines, her hand stroking over his length, teasing him immediately.

He let out a brief chuckle at her eagerness in between the excited groans. His hands started pulling teasingly on the loose locks of gold-blonde hair falling along her shoulders occasionally, or stroking over her breasts, pressed together by her arms, outstretched to play with him below her.

His grunts of pleasure became more and more pronounced and she withdrew from him, standing up to finally get rid of the rest of her clothes. He watched her intently with hungry eyes as she undressed in front of him, his breathing heavy, his hand gripping his own cock, eager to find release.

She straddled him again when she got rid of the last piece of clothing, leaning down towards him in a close embrace and kissing him wildly. It was so nice to get consumed by their ministrations. The somber mood and the grievous thoughts about the situation in Windhelm was blessedly forgotten for now. There wasn’t even a sound coming from the tavern to make her too conscious about being heard. She _did_ realize at the back of her mind that it probably only meant that anyone could hear them all the more, but Bishop’s distracting touch always erased this particular concern.

Her chest flattened on his, her hips rubbing against him excruciatingly teasingly. One of his hands tangled in her hair, making a firm fist and keeping her steadily with her mouth on his as his teeth nipped eagerly into her lower lip. His other hand roamed from her lower back to her backside, at times pressing down on her encouragingly. The teasing getting too much to handle for him, especially since one of her hands was still trapped between their bodies, stroking over his manhood periodically with her fingers occasionally strumming gently over his balls.

She was taking a surprising amount of initiative. He could almost feel the need to ease her mind from her. The desperate attempts to concentrate on their antics, rather than anything else, was so palpable in her touch.

At last she positioned him to her entrance, letting out a deep long moan against his mouth when she slowly lowered herself on him, impaling herself on him nearly all the way down in one languid move.

Unable to wait for her to set the pace anymore, he raised himself and her with him into a half-sit with one of his arms supporting their weight. His hips started to move against her roughly, his hand still entangled in her hair. Their heavy breaths were mixing together and echoing off each other with their heads and mouths still so close. They eagerly exchanged the occasional kiss or a hungry bite, encouraging their movements.

Her hips met his wild pace eagerly, deep gasps escaping her with every thrust. He bit into her skin roughly where her neck met her shoulder, making her moan out in ecstasy, her walls clenching firmly against him and nails digging into the taut muscles of his back.

The loud grunt and a couple of choice swear words out of his lips signaled his own release. The heat spread deep inside her as she panted against him, her hands clutching him desperately, nails still digging into his skin.

After a while of mutual panting and meager attempts at steadying their heaving bodies, he shifted, rolling her over and on her back while her legs entangled over his waist instinctively. His large body lay on top of her, his arms folded along her sides, supporting him weakly and barely preventing him from flattening her against the mattress.

He gave her a surprisingly gentle smile, given his still heavy breathing and hungry eyes, while one of his hands brushed the sticky hair from her sweaty face.

He stared into her black eyes. She seemed so at peace, as opposed to before they started. At the very least, that idiotic curfew did not only make sure she couldn’t do anything stupidly risky to catch the killer, it also ensured them plenty of time spent just like this.

He wouldn’t change the sight of her like this for anything in the world. The flushed cheeks, the sparkly eyes, the slight satisfied smile and the heaving body…

Fuck, he couldn’t remember ever getting this mesmerized by a girl.

Maybe it was because he never really cared this much about any of them.

Maybe it was because he was never really… in love.

Shit… was he really?

Well… what did that even mean? And what did it even matter? Who cared what it was called?!

All that was important was that he would never let anything ruin this.

Whatever he had to do, he’d never let anyone take this away from him.

He buried his face back into her shoulder, biting gently again into the rather prominent mark he left there in the heat of passion. That earned another groan from her, her eyes closing, her back arching under him, breasts pressing firmly into his chest.

Fuck, he _loved_ that sound. 


	82. The Dawn of Dissidence

“I am surprised to find you back here for such a reason, child.”

The old priest muttered while lighting several of the candles decorating the small temple. Aeyrin barely remembered the place from her last visit – she was rather delirious the entire time of her stay there.

The place was much more cramped than any other temple she’s visited so far, especially the one in Solitude… although she didn’t get to admire that one much either. There were only a couple of cots for the wounded, a large statue of Talos in front of a few pews and several small washbasins for the healers.

Bishop didn’t accompany her to the chapel. He seemed hardly interested in religious talk and he decided to scour the markets to see if there were any people still selling things outside. They needed to refill their supplies for their journeys.

“Now, why does an elf want to know more about Talos? You _do_ understand that while the rebellion stands, the Thalmor cannot dictate what this congregation does? And I’ll be damned if I let…” the old priest was starting to get somewhat worked up, but she managed to interrupt him early on.

“Master, I assure you I’m not here to question the legality of the temple. If anything, I’m relieved I was able to find one still in place,” she stopped his outburst. She was hoping that their shared background could make for some headway with him. At least he didn’t throw her out outright for having pointed ears.

“I’m actually a cleric in the church of the Eight and I traveled to Skyrim on a pilgrimage to find out more about Talos. Despite what the Thalmor demand, it would be a shame if an entire branch of religion disappeared and I… appreciate your resilience,” she smiled at him, hoping her demeanor would erase that scowl from the old Nord’s face. He did seem to soften a little, but he still looked her over in suspicion when she continued. “I was hoping to collect some knowledge, learn more of the ways of Talos and tell my congregation back in Cyrodiil what I’ve learned. Even if… even if worship of Talos remains banned, it would be tragic if it were forgotten. If nothing else, it deserves to be preserved for history’s sake,” she pleaded her case before the priest further.

After Hadvar’s reaction about her pilgrimage when she first arrived in Skyrim, she feared it would be impossible to find any sources useful to her. It never occurred to her that if she found someone preserving Talos’s worship publicly, they might actually be reluctant to help because of her race. But why was she even surprised? This was Windhelm, after all…

The priest gave her a long pondering look, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion, searching her face for any duplicity.

After some time he sighed and headed towards the large statue, fishing something out of a wooden lectern in front of it.

He returned to her, still silent, but he handed her three thick tomes, all of them leather bound and with no actual titles imprinted into the covers.

“There is plenty of lore preserved of our faith. We do not let the elves dictate our lives. And before you even think it, girl, this congregation is plenty official and the Thalmor already know about it. Not like they can do anything. So don’t be thinking you hold there some sort of ‘evidence’,” the man grumbled at her, pointing at the books. She wondered if he was similarly unpleasant to Bishop when he dealt with him while she was sick – but she already knew that this was likely a reaction to the fact that an elf had expressed an interest in the forbidden religion.

“May I keep these?” she asked him carefully after a while. She curiously looked over the books, opening the covers and peering inside. Each of them mentioned Talos in some measure but she didn’t really spend time studying them thoroughly yet.

“Keep ‘em. There’s plenty more around here somewhere. Like I said, we are not intimidated by the elves. But if you are really interested in learning more of the ways of Talos, you came to the wrong place. There is a much more suitable opportunity at the Palace,” the old man smirked slightly and shook his head at her as if he knew she wasn’t exactly welcome there.

“How so?” Divines, hopefully he didn’t mean Ulfric. If that man was considered some sort of paragon of a Talos worshiper…

“War, child. War is the way of Talos. Righteous battle and fighting for a cause. Until you know these things, there is no knowledge to be gained from books,” again he gave a disdainful snort, as if he was doubting her ability to ever comprehend his philosophy. It was getting annoying… and discouraging. She didn’t exactly have a lot of inclination to ask him more of his faith after that behavior.

“Why do you assume I’ve not experienced this? Ulfric’s rebellion is hardly the only cause and the only war waged in this country. I have assumed that Talos’s doctrines were about perseverance and conviction, rather than continuous bloodshed…” she scoffed right back at him.

“You understand nothing, child. People would speak of internal battles when they’ve experienced none, they would speak of overcoming challenges while having no concept of the word. You wouldn’t know what it is to fight for a cause until you are left with no choice but to spill blood. That is what Talos understood. Any means necessary,” the man turned his back to her and walked back towards the candles. He continuing lighting them disinterestedly, practically ignoring her.

Not that she exactly wanted to argue with him further. He seemed so single-minded. She could definitely imagine someone like Ulfric seeking guidance from this man.

Maybe there was something to what he said, maybe she really could not understand until she experience the hardship of war, but the whole ‘any means necessary’ always felt like an excuse to her. Perhaps the books would provide something more relatable, despite what the priest thought.

She turned on her heel, completely forgetting about the other matters she wanted to discuss with the man. He soured her enough for the day. Before she left the temple entirely, she noticed a young woman, clad in the same robes as the priest, standing by the exit. She was looking directly at her.

Aeyrin walked past her adamantly, but the woman followed her outside. After several paces, she stopped her a short distance away from the temple.

“Excuse me, could we speak for a moment?” the priestess gave Aeyrin a kind smile from behind the dark brown priest hood, positioning herself right in front of her to block her path.

Aeyrin only nodded and looked at the woman expectantly.

“Please, excuse Master Lortheim, he is… well… let’s just say that, at times, age brings us great wisdom, but at other times, the painful experiences of a long life leave one more… jaded to those around them…” she sighed slightly as the kind smile returned to her face a second later. “I must admit I have overheard much of your conversation and I was pleasantly surprised by your curiosity… and by your willingness to preserve the worship of Talos. The perseverance in defending one’s cause truly is one of the most important lessons Talos bestows upon us, but sadly, that often means battling it on two fronts – protecting it from those that would see your ideals trampled to the ground as well as those who would twist them to their own selfish purposes.”

Was she referring to Ulfric? Did a priest of Talos actually see through his political schemes?

“Luckily, you may find many answers in the books that Lortheim provided, but I was hoping to propose something to you,” the priestess gave her a conspiratorial look, peaking Aeyrin’s curiosity. After the exchange with the temple’s Master, she really didn’t expect someone this priest to come out of that place. She couldn’t help but feel a _little_ suspicious, but there was no harm in hearing her out.

“You were hoping to inform your own church on your findings? I was thinking that perhaps, even in the midst of this war, even with the Concordat, there would be a chance to preserve our faith. No matter the outcome. If someone like you were to… find people… those sympathetic to our cause and those willing to learn, or perhaps even make pilgrimages like you have, well… I’d be happy to welcome anyone here. I could answer their questions and teach them of our beliefs…” the woman bit her lip a little nervously, searching Aeyrin’s face for a reaction.

Did she mean…?

What she was proposing… finding people who would keep Talos worship alive beyond Skyrim’s borders… That would mean going against the Concordat. It would create a chapter of dissident priests.

That was so dangerous! If the Thalmor found out about something like this, they would bring down all their might upon them!

But it sounded so… noble. So worthwhile. There must have been people like her in other provinces, people who were willing to go against the Dominion in order to preserve knowledge and provide freedom of religion.

And hopefully, it would be much less bloody than Ulfric’s approach. There was no need to make your point by brute force and war.

She could start slow. Perhaps she could write to Master Therien and see if he knew of others on their pilgrimages who would be curious about Talos too. That couldn’t hurt, could it? That wasn’t too dangerous.

“Aren’t you afraid I’m a Thalmor spy? Your Master certainly seemed to be,” Aeyrin narrowed her eyes at her after a while of pondering. The woman _was_ surprisingly forthcoming.

The priestess chuckled lightly, but there was a small hint of fear in her eyes: “As Master Lortheim mentioned, our temple is well known and for now… in a… grey area of the law. If Ulfric succeeds, it could be a haven to all the believers… _or_ it could be a cradle of a new faith… twisted in its nature. And if he fails… our lives are not likely to be spared. There is nothing to lose by making every attempt to nudge events into the most promising direction. Protecting one’s cause… waging a battle that the eye cannot see.”

The look the priestess gave her was wistful, even hopeful. Aeyrin couldn’t help but nod at her. Perhaps it was naïve of her, but what if in time, their efforts bore enough support to be recognized even by the Empire? What if the secret worship got so widespread even the Thalmor couldn’t stop it.

“If you still have questions…” the priestess smiled, inclining her head back towards the temple. Aeyrin noticed the old priest in the corner of her eye. He was leaving the building and heading towards the direction of the Palace.

“I do… and there were some other things I’ve been meaning to discuss.”

…

“Jora said that every time the victim was missing a different… part. Apparently the priestess of Arkay thought it was a work of a necromancer… collecting body parts for some reason.”

Aeyrin shuddered, a disgusted sneer on her face. She’s been telling everything she learned from her talk with the priestess to Bishop while they were having lunch at the Candlehearth Hall.

He was less than pleased about her plans to start her own ‘priestly resistance’. Well… that wasn’t exactly it… he _was_ kind of pleased. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked even impressed and almost… proud. But he grumbled incessantly about the dangers and how she was making an enemy out of the Dominion. She assured him that all she was going to do for now was contact Master Therien again and ask him for guidance with this. He still grumbled, but he seemed at least a little less angry.

They moved on from the subject after a while and returned to discuss the murders again.

“Why only young women? Why would a necromancer care?” Bishop pondered, downing the contents of his tankard. It sounded more like it was some perverted freak that couldn’t get a live woman. But the cutting off of parts didn’t add up then.

“I don’t know… maybe they were easy targets? Maybe it’s a coincidence… they thought it was only Nord women at first too,” Aeyrin shrugged. “It’s still odd though… what would a necromancer do with parts only? Wouldn’t they want a whole body? It’s likely just the usual ‘magic is bad’ thing…” she sighed, turning her attention back to her meal.

“Maybe the parts… fell off… after the experiments…” Bishop shrugged with a slightly disturbed smirk on his face. Who knew what necromancers did with the corpses and how much they damaged them? Or how long they kept them…

“The bodies weren’t rotted at all though… they were gone for only a few hours before they were dumped. Every time in a different place… which makes sense… the guards would always be all over the previous spots…” she pondered further, her brows creased deep in thought.

Not like she could figure out who the killer is like _that._ And he sorely wished she would let it go already. The more invested she was getting, the higher the probability was that she would try something stupid and get herself caught by that sick freak. It didn’t matter how capable she was or if she could Shout the killer to pieces – they had no idea what they were dealing with! Who knew what the Butcher was capable of? And it wasn’t as if Ulfric’s men would let her meddle. It would have been best to leave well enough alone.

“It’s likely they’ll catch them soon. The whole city’s on alert and unless the fucker left already, it won’t be long now,” Bishop shrugged. He wasn’t really convinced of that – if the person was smart enough, they could avoid the guard for as long as they needed. He saw it himself – the ramparts were almost empty – the only two guards on them were staring outside the city walls. The Grey Quarter had numerous access point to the roofs. It would have been an easy vantage point to follow an unsuspecting victim without being spotted. After that, it would only be a matter of waiting for an opportune time – a lull in the patrols, a shadowy corner… the guards never counted on someone watching _them_.

She gave him a skeptical look, but she still smiled a little gratefully at his attempt to ease her mind.

“Well… maybe there’s still something more we can find out from the elves…”

…

“I don’t know… I’m starting to have second thoughts…”

Susanna shuffled her feet nervously when they stopped in front of the cornerclub. She was staring at the rickety door, biting her lower lip in hesitation.

“I bet you ten drakes they don’t even remember whatever it was they were pissed at you for,” Bishop smirked at her. Surprisingly enough, he sounded more encouraging than annoyed.

Susanna gave him a skeptical look, her brows remained deeply creased: “I doubt _that_ …”

“Come on, there’s nothing to lose. It can only get better,” Aeyrin gave her a smile and headed towards the tavern uncompromisingly. It was best for Susanna to get the first moments over with. It surely wouldn’t be as bad as she made it out to be.

There were a lot of elves already present at the cornerclub.

It appeared most of the Grey Quarter residents didn’t intend to return to their homes after sundown – it was nice to see that the curfew didn’t change this as much as they feared.

“Look who’s here!” Ambarys gave them a wide grin when he saw them enter, but there was still some palpable weariness in his eyes, just like in Susanna’s. In fact, it was apparent in all the patrons – the severity of the situation in Windhelm was obviously getting to all the citizens. Well, maybe not _all_. Ulfric’s men were likely thriving.

“Hey, Ambarys… we brought a friend…” Aeyrin feigned an innocent smile – maybe they really didn’t remember anymore.

All the patrons along with the elf behind the bar turned their eyes to Susanna, who promptly tried to hide behind Bishop, rather ineffectively.

“Sorry, hla-aka, _she’s_ not welcome here,” Ambarys narrowed his eyes at the barmaid instantly. All the other patrons started to whisper among themselves, throwing disgruntled looks towards the girl.

“Come on, Ambarys, don’t be like that! I’m don’t know what happened, but Susanna’s been so nice to us… and she’s one of the few Nords around here who actually _care_ about how you guys are treated,” Aeyrin tried to placate him when Susanna didn’t seem eager to talk. She was only staring at the ground with a somber expression.

“Tss how it star’s... acts all… fr’ndly then BAM! ‘er Stermclerk fr’nds come… an’ kill yah!” Malthyr slurred, already drunk. He was barely staying atop his chair, swaying around wildly.

“I-it wasn’t like that! I… I never meant for any of that to happen! I would have never…” Susanna piped up, despair etched on her face as she looked frantically over all the patrons to see whether any of them would believe her.

“Save it girl, we know what happened. Not like _you_ can’t take care of yourself hla-aka, but I wouldn’t trust her good intentions…” Ambarys scoffed derisively, pointedly turning his attention to cleaning dishes and pouring drinks.

“I didn’t… it wasn’t like that…” Susanna sighed defeatedly. She almost looked on the verge of tears. Ambarys threw her another contemptful look, and creased his brows at her expression.

He shook his head with a sigh after a while, avoiding her eyes and rumbling disgruntledly.

“Nchow, not like I’m gonna throw her out. We don’t do that _here_. Doesn’t mean she’s welcome…”

Susanna looked ready to leave but Aeyrin ushered her to one of the tables instead. Perhaps she would be able to talk of what happened in a bit and things could be cleared up.

Bishop’s interest in how things unfolded waned considerably since his eyes were set on the decorated yellow bottles on the shelves behind Ambarys.

“Three. For real this time,” he gave the barkeep a wide cheeky grin, eliciting a snort from the elf.

“Right… we’re gonna be dragging the n’wah from the floor tonight,” Ambarys chuckled before passing him one of the bottles.

“You _do_ realize that I know what that word means, right? I know it’s meant as an insult…” Bishop took the bottle from him with a smirk. That earned a hearty laugh from both the barkeep and Revyn, who was sitting at the bar and drinking some unidentifiable liquid from an unlabeled bottle.

“Busted, Amba! If I were you, friend, I’d demand some compensation,” Revyn snickered, eliciting an annoyed groan from Ambarys.

“No need. I don’t give a fuck what he calls me. _But_ I get my reward after I finish the third bottle. You better think of something real good, Ambarys,” Bishop gave him a sly wink and pointedly took a deep swig of the hard liquor straight from the bottle.

“You’re on, n’wah.”


	83. Mending Bridges

“Everyone wants me to leave…”

Susanna sighed, staring into her tankard somberly and swirling the liquid around with idle movements.

She kept lamenting the fact that the Dunmer were angry with her, yet she never actually broached the subject of why. Aeyrin poured more of the liquor to her tankard with a sympathetic smile. She wasn’t exactly sure what they were drinking – Ambarys gave her the bottle when she adamantly refused to keep up with Bishop, claiming that it wasn’t ‘as strong as sujamma’. It was plenty strong on its own though, but perhaps it would loosen the barmaid’s tongue eventually – she was so certain she could help her mend things with the elves. And that certainty got only stronger as she gradually felt the alcohol take effect…

“Just… ignore the looks and drink,” she encourage Susanna. Damn, she sounded like Bishop, “I’m sure they’ll get tired of the glares soon.”

Susanna nodded slowly and took one last look over the room – some of the elves ignored her, chatting amongst themselves and drinking, but others occasionally threw her nasty looks, narrowing their eyes in suspicion. She let out another sigh and turned her attention back to Aeyrin. Finally she gave her a weak but determined smile.

“Right. Let’s talk about something else then…” Susanna looked over the room again almost subconsciously. This time she focused on any potential distraction, rather than the uncomfortable atmosphere.

She giggled after a while, giving Aeyrin a sly and knowing smile.

“What?”

“You two are head over heels aren’t you?” she snickered again, taking a deep swig from her tankard. Her cheeks were already starting to color slightly from the alcohol.

“H-how do you figure?” Aeyrin flushed, but she couldn’t stop her lips from quirking up a bit. She gave a brief glance to Bishop – he was sitting at the bar, laughing heartily at something Ambarys was telling him, and steadily working through the remains of his first sujamma bottle.

“His eyes turn here at every chance he gets. You do the same, by the way. And there’s this look… I can just tell,” Susanna smiled at her wistfully.

“I… I guess… I don’t know…” Aeyrin returned her smile demurely, staring blankly at the table after a while. She wasn’t sure how she would tell if she was in love. She knew she’s never felt this way about anyone, but with her limited experience, it was hardly surprising. Besides, for some reason, lately, she felt like she needed to be more… careful. It felt like admitting it to herself would make any potential hurt all the worse. She couldn’t help but still occasionally remember the bitter feeling about the happenings in Whiterun, no matter how hard she tried to move past it.

“Problems?” Susanna prodded curiously, eager to concern herself with something else than the stares directed at her.

“I’m… I’m not sure…” Aeyrin sighed, the memories of the night at The Bannered Mare springing to her mind again. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

Maybe talking it through _would_ help. She didn’t really feel like she had anyone she could just come to and confide in besides Bishop. There were Aela and Lydia but for some reason, she would feel uncomfortable complaining about Bishop to them. Maybe it was because of his own rather close relationship with them. While he certainly had some… history with Susanna, they never really talked as much as he did with Aela or Lydia. Farkas and Vilkas came briefly to mind, but their own bias towards Bishop would make any discussion rather moot.

“I just feel… something happened some time ago and I…” Aeyrin shook her head, taking a breath. She still felt somewhat… stupid for forgiving him. She knew she wanted to and she knew she didn’t want to end their relationship or anything like that. And she certainly didn’t want to hold it over him and keep harping on past mistakes. She really didn’t know what else to do.

“We were in Whiterun at the inn for the night. I was playing for the patrons and then I noticed some girl come over to him. She was pawing all over him… always leaning in and stuff… he didn’t do anything to stop it. Then he just mouthed to me to pretend like we didn’t know each other… it was all so weird. Anyway, I didn’t really know what to do… I paid for a room and I… I saw them outside from the window. I saw them kiss and I didn’t want to look anymore… he didn’t come back for a few hours…” her brows creased at the memory while Susanna remained silent, listening to her with a worried frown.

“He came back to the inn and said that nothing happened… but I saw him! He admitted then that he let her kiss him but swore that nothing else happened. He said that she was dangerous… that they’ve been together before and after things ended that she… terrorized the girl he was with after that. He said that he was just trying to make sure she didn’t know about me and do something stupid… that he followed her afterwards to make sure she left,” Aeyrin gave out another deep sigh, avoiding eye contact with Susanna.

“It’s like the worst excuse ever, right? I just… I know I’m being so stupid. I want to believe him and I don’t… I don’t want this to come between us… W-when I think of not being with him…” Aeyrin shook her head vehemently, chasing the thoughts away. “I just wanted to believe him and... I’m really being stupid, right?” she looked at Susanna. She didn’t really want her to agree. But anyone who was looking at this rationally _would_.

Susanna smiled at her sympathetically, but before she could answer, Idesa appeared at their table, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting herself down. The Dunmer threw a rather cold look at Susanna and then pointedly turned to Aeyrin with a much gentler face.

“Sorry to interrupt, hla-aka. Can I join? I just… wanted to apologize,” Idesa gave her a sad smile, looking at her expectantly.

“For what?” Aeyrin scowled. If she was apologizing for the glares, she really should at least look at Susanna while doing so.

“Well… for spilling the yams, really. I shouldn’t have talked so much about the Dragonborn thing… I… should have realized it would get back to the Stormcloaks… You have no idea how relieved I was to see you back here. The last news we had of you, brother said you were… sick. We thought Ulfric had poisoned you…” Idesa bit her lower lip in guilt, giving the Bosmer a hopeful look.

“Oh… no, he didn’t. He was… unpleasant, but he didn’t really try to do anything but threaten me. I got sick from the damn cold. And don’t feel bad, Idesa. If you didn’t start, someone else would have connected the dots. They already suspected me at the city gates. It was only a matter of time, really,” Aeyrin shook her head with a wry smile. She longed to visit a place where nobody knew who she was again. Maybe she would get lucky in Winterhold – hopefully there were more elves around, with the College and all, it would make her much less conspicuous.

“Still… you might have enjoyed a few more moments of obscurity…” Idesa smirked at her. “The bottle’s on me. As a compensation,” she inclined her head towards the unlabeled bottle that Aeyrin and Susanna were sharing. Then Idesa only took a swig from her own tankard. She apparently decided to stay at their table.

Susanna still looked like she wanted to return to the previous topic, but she was now too uncomfortable with Idesa there. Aeyrin wasn’t certain whether she wanted to discuss it anymore. Talking about what happened didn’t ease her mind at all. Now she was only bitterly aware how naïve she was once she put the events to words.

She might as well get it over with though, and Idesa’s presence was hardly concerning to her. The alcohol made her a bit less self-conscious in that regard and the Dunmer was practically a stranger. It wasn’t as if she had anything to gain from knowing Aeyrin’s personal issues.

“Umm… if you had something to say…” she bit her lip nervously, looking at Susanna and bracing herself for a lecture on gullibility.

Susanna gave another look to Idesa, creasing her brows deeply. After a while though, she let out a decidedly defeated sigh, shaking her head in resignation.

What an odd reaction…

“I… I don’t think it’s stupid. If you only think about what’s rational or who you’re _supposed_ to be with… you’re never going to be happy. You said you wanted to believe him and that you want to be with him… do _that_. Maybe you’ll find out later that you shouldn’t have… but if you don’t try, you’ll never forgive yourself. And you’ll never stop wondering. I can see you care about him that much,” Susanna’s smile was encouraging. She looked at Idesa, who has been watching her with narrowed suspicious eyes, but the barmaid only nodded determinedly after that.

Surprisingly enough, her eyes stayed on the Dunmer for a long while before she decided to continue.

“For the record… I wouldn’t discount his version of what happened. First of all… if he was making it up, he’d likely think of something more believable. And… if you don’t know how nasty things can get when a scorned person gets involved, count yourself lucky…” Susanna lowered her gaze, taking a deep swig of her drink after a while.

It was obvious that she wasn’t talking about Aeyrin anymore.

“Susanna… what happened?” Aeyrin tried to broach the subject carefully when she noticed Idesa still glaring at the Nord in suspicion.

Susanna jerked her head up, looking straight at the Dunmer, her eyes glittering, at the verge of tears but still defiant and determined.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me! But I’ll be damned if I act like it’s _my_ fault anymore. _I_ lost him too!” Susanna shook her head, drinking again before she turned her eyes back to Aeyrin. Her voice was quivering a bit when she started to speak.

“There was a man… a Dunmer. He was the only one of them who would come to Candlehearth back then. After a while we got to talking. Turned out… he was coming there to see me. He was… he was so sweet, my Narvur… I’ve never met anyone like him…” some tears escaped Susanna’s eyes and she turned again to her drink, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“We fell in love. I’ve never been so happy in my life. But… but then… one of the Stormcloaks took an interest in me…” her face twisted in disgust at the memory. “He was relentless. I made it clear so many times that I wasn’t interested, but he still came to the inn constantly, always trying something… and after a while he found out about Narvur.” Susanna wiped the tears from her eyes quickly, but more and more escaped each second.

“It was… horrible. He threatened him constantly, harassed him at every step, followed him around, waiting for an opportunity to arrest him or something. In the end, he got tired of waiting. He got some of his soldier friends on his side and they convinced Ulfric of all sorts of things… not that he needed much convincing. I’m not even sure what it was in the end… they told me something about him being a spy, trying to get close to me because as a barmaid I may have overheard some information on Stormcloaks. They said he was charged with blackmailing me and forcing himself on me… he was… already executed by the time they told me…” she swallowed the knot in her throat audibly, shaking her head in dismay.

“No matter what… it was already too late. They took his life for a petty rivalry. And that _scum_ … he still had the audacity to make passes at me… I don’t know what would have happened if it weren’t for Brunwulf…” she shook her head again, finally looking back at Aeyrin. “The rumors were everywhere… about the evil elf who manipulated me. Brunwulf was one of the very few people here who actually believed me when I told him what happened. He was the only one who helped me. The man has influence… he arranged for that… that _bastard_ to be called off into another Hold. At least there was that… But no one could ever bring my Narvur back…”

There was a long moment of silence as Susanna sniffled, staring into the table. Aeyrin gently took her hand, stroking over it soothingly, but she really had no idea what to say. The platitudes she was taught to comfort the grieving somehow didn’t seem enough.

Idesa stared at the Nord for a while, her eyes still narrowed. But after some time, she finally spoke in an odd tone in her voice – a mixture of anger and uncertainty: “Woman, if you made that up for my benefit…”

“Oh to the Void with you! I don’t care what you think anymore! I don’t know what I was thinking! It’s not like belonging somewhere would ever help! It’s not like it would _ever_ make things better! He’s still gone!” Susanna cried out, wiping the tears away from her eyes defiantly and evading Idesa’s crestfallen look. Several patrons looked their way curiously after her outburst, observing them with quiet intrigued murmurs.

“I… yes… well… excuse me…” Idesa’s expression turned somber and regretful as she stood up from the table, heading straight towards her brother and a few other Dunmer sharing his table. She started to talk to them immediately, her words hidden in whispers. Some of them occasionally threw odd looks towards Susanna during the exchange.

However unnerving the memories got for Susanna, maybe the outburst would actually help…

“I… I don’t know what to say… I’m so sorry about what happened...” Aeyrin shook her head. It was odd… as prepared as she was to deal with these things during her time at the temple, she never actually knew any of the people she was consoling. Everything she was taught suddenly felt so inappropriate – as if the same words had less meaning outside the chapel walls. Perhaps because the people searching for comfort at the temples expected those very words from her, because they came there to hear them. But Susanna didn’t. And nothing Aeyrin could say would lessen her pain.

“You don’t have to… you don’t have to say anything… just…” Susanna gave her a sad and demure smile after a while. “You have someone who makes you happy. Don’t let the silly things take it away. There are much worse dangers, believe me…”

A long silence fell over them while Aeyrin pondered on Susanna’s words. Maybe Bishop really wasn’t lying about the night in Whiterun. But… maybe… even if he did… it wasn’t something that she should let come between them. Susanna made it painfully clear how many things can go wrong, what could happen to tear them apart – things they had no control over. This was something she could decide on her own. Something she had the power to dismiss. She _wanted_ to be with him, after all. She _knew_ how she felt. Susanna was right. What would being rational achieve, if she wouldn’t be happy? Death or other circumstances could break them apart any day after all. This shouldn’t.

“Susanna, is it?” Faryl, one of the Dunmer farmers, interrupted their silent ruminations, inclining his head towards the Nord.

“Idesa told us… your... side of what happened to Narvur… we may have… let the rumors get out of hand…” Faryl sighed, going over to the bar briefly and coming back with another bottle, setting it down on their table. This one was in a similarly decorated clay pot like the sujammas, only it was in a light red color with a carving of a small crimson berry on the side. Did the Dunmer here only communicate in drinks?

“A peace offering. Vintage comberry brandy, Ambarys’s best year. You are welcome at the cornerclub anytime.”

…

The brandy was certainly good.

Also somewhat stronger than whatever they’ve been drinking before.

Bishop was almost done with his second bottle, holding himself up surprisingly better than the last time. He also ate almost the entire food supply at the Candlehearth Hall during lunch to prepare for the evening… he was really taking the three bottle challenge seriously. It was both funny and concerning to Aeyrin, but with the rising inebriation, it was mostly just funny.

The evening was progressing in a much lighter mood after the misunderstanding about Narvur was dealt with. Apparently, the Dunmer dealt with the curfew in their own way by staying at the cornerclub until sunrise, drinking the nights away.

It was no wonder. From the information they caught between conversations, some of the Nords, especially the soldiers, really let out their frustrations on the elves. They were harassing them at every opportunity. Some of the elves were even covered in bruises – the result of back talking or disobeying ridiculous orders.

From what they told them, two of their friends have been taken into the dungeons after Ulfric’s first order. They haven’t been seen since.

After the second order, the Dunmer mostly decided to obey, in fear of another such occurrence. But the Stormcloaks were determined to make their efforts too difficult nonetheless.

A lot of the Nords also left their Dunmer employees without work… for ‘safety purposes’, leaving them practically septim-less.

And on top of it all, who even knew at this point if catching the killer would make the situation better for them? Ulfric’s men seemed to be reveling in the abuse and there was no doubt he could think of some other reasons for similar orders if he wanted.

For what it was worth, Susanna promised to spread the word about the Stormcloaks’ behavior among the citizens – at least those who she knew would sympathize a little.

But it was unlikely that it would help the situation.

It was, however, rather encouraging that despite their troubles, the elves didn’t lose their spirits and didn’t resort to hatred towards all the Nords. They clung to those supporting them, realizing that without them, they were all alone against the might of the rebellion.

And in spite of all this, they still had it in them to drink the nights away in merriment.

“You’re doing surprisingly well, n’wah. Don’t even know a Dunmer who’d handle two bottles…” Ambarys smirked, taking away the second empty bottle from Bishop, before he did something stupid like smashing it again, and he promptly placed the third one in front of him.

Bishop looked a bit sick at the sight of one more entire bottle, but he put on a determined look. He missed a few times with his hand before he managed to grab the bottle and pour himself another tankard. He steadied himself a bit by wrapping his arm more firmly across the stomach of the elf sitting on his lap in her drunken state.

He was getting increasingly handsy, as usual, with his rising inebriation and as always, she mostly stopped minding that they were in public after the second tankard of the brandy.

Susanna was fitting in with the Dunmer seamlessly after the air was cleared, laughing and drinking alongside them. She looked happier than they’ve ever seen her. There was an hour or so when the mood got somber as they all reminisced about Narvur, but soon enough the atmosphere got cheery again.

“Should you… should you really drink that?” Aeyrin gulped at the sight of the bottle on the table before giving Bishop a long glance. He was still rather lucid, but he swayed constantly and was starting to slur his speech somewhat. His hands seemed to be everywhere on her, always pressing her closer to him, roaming under her shirt to stroke over her belly and back, his lips constantly grazing her neck somewhat clumsily. The attention actually felt pretty pleasant when she wasn’t noticing any of the other patrons snickering at them.

“…be fine… pr’ncess. I want my… my r’ward…” he murmured against her skin, pushing the long blond braid aside and nipping teasingly into the nape of her neck.

She giggled at him. What did he even think he was gonna get? It wasn’t as if Ambarys had some great treasure to offer him.

“An’… I want a r’ward… from you…” she could feel him grin against her neck, his hands curling over her abdomen firmly, squeezing her to him. The movement made her a little nauseous – she wasn’t feeling exactly sober, but he was _so_ warm and comfortable. And at that moment, she wasn’t able to concentrate on much else than his strong arms enveloping her hungrily.

“What… kind?” she gasped as he bit into the skin of her neck again. She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him whisper it to her in that low voice of his.

He let out a pleased rumble into her ear, but before he could answer her, two laughing shapes interrupted them, almost crashing into the chairs at their table as they sat down heavily.

“What’re you two doing? Come, drink, socialize!” Revyn laughed, almost toppling over with his chair when he started to rock on it.

“Yeah! You can do _that_ anytime…” Susanna laughed, gesturing at the two of them before she attempted to pour more of the brandy on the table to her tankard but coming up empty. “We should do something fun! Like go outside and have a snow fight! I haven’t done that since I was a child…” she giggled wistfully, her cheeks red from the alcohol.

“Can’t! Curfew…” Revyn grumbled in annoyance, pawing at Bishop’s bottle of sujamma. He swiftly earned a smack on his wrist. Bishop was apparently not leaving anything to chance – Ambarys might complain if he didn’t drink the whole bottle himself.

“Oh… right…” Susanna sighed morosely. “Well… I don’t know… let’s dance or something!” she stood up, suddenly.

There was no music, but Revyn gave a wide smirk, snapping his fingers and turning his head back towards the rest of the patrons: “Ides! Luaffyn’s dead. Your turn!”

He pointed towards the lute strapped to Aeyrin’s pack on the ground, upon which his sister practically lunged at it. She gave Aeyrin a brief look before unfastening it, earning a giggle and a nod from the Bosmer. The last time Idesa tried to play anything it was rather disastrous. She was curious to see whether it would be any better this time.

Idesa grabbed the instrument, and crawled up on the bar, making Ambarys shake his head with a smirk. She started to strum some odd tune. It had sort of a rhythm, but it was very inconsistent and her inability to play was all too apparent. But still, the patrons seemed to enjoy it, some of them starting to dance, some making up lyrics to go along her music and some just laughing and clapping.

Susanna seemed satisfied with the result. She gave Aeyrin a sly smirk and grabbed her by the hand, yanking her away from Bishop’s lap. She earned a very annoyed growl from him.

“I can’t dance!” Aeyrin yelled out, almost colliding with the barmaid.

“Doesn’t matter! I’ll teach you,” Susanna giggled. She gave Bishop an expectant look, waiting until he got up to join them.

He shook his head somewhat morosely, pointing towards the bottle of sujamma. He really didn’t seem thrilled about finishing it. Or was he upset because Susanna dragged Aeyrin away from him?

“Pfft… fine… _men_ …” Susanna scoffed and grabbed the elf beside her by the hand again, hauling her towards the center of the room.

They joined several Dunmer dancing to Idesa’s tune. Susanna was swaying smoothly and rather elegantly while Aeyrin just generally tried not to fall over. She was hardly in any state to work on her ineptitude.

Susanna laughed heartily at her ‘dance’, taking her by the hands and attempting to guide her through some more graceful moves.

It did _not_ help.

Aeyrin flushed in embarrassment at first, but soon enough, she noticed that no one really paid attention to them. Not only that – some of the dancing Dunmer couldn’t have looked much better than her with their drunken efforts. Susanna still laughed at her, but it wasn’t malicious. There was genuine joy in her eyes. The relief of finally clearing the tension and cutting loose was so palpable on her.

Aeyrin joined in her laughter. She tried to follow her moves but failed miserably all the time.

It didn’t matter anymore.

It was so nice – the thoughts of the Butcher, Ulfric and the incident in Whiterun were suddenly distant memories.

She wasn’t sure what time exactly it was but it was definitely the middle of the night.

The thought of this merriment going on all the way until the morning was exciting.

Aeyrin looked back towards Bishop with a gentle smile. He grinned back at her. He was obviously already watching her before she turned her gaze to him. And he seemed highly amused at her clumsy moves.

Suddenly the front door swung open.

Strange… who could that be? The curfew was already in effect.


	84. Brighter Tomorrows

The man looked rather nervous as the entire room quieted, staring at him.

With the vast majority of the Dunmer population already at the cornerclub, they hardly expected a visitor so late at night… or early in the morning, so to speak.

The Imperial looked around the small room, taking in the sights of the drunken patrons staring at him in surprise.

Aeyrin recognized that man.

It was Calixto. He gave them that tour of his ‘House of Curiosities’ – there was that strange blank book, the fork that he claimed was actually a spoon and other ordinary items to which he ascribed some mystical significance.

“Are you lost, sedura?” Ambarys smirked at him, looking him over curiously.

With a wry smile the man chuckled, shaking his head: “Not at all. I’m sorry to interrupt your… celebrations. I was walking the streets, unable to sleep, when I overheard the commotion in your club. I was hoping to grab a drink and join you for a while. There’s nothing better to clear one’s head.”

“Walking the streets at this hour seems right daft to me, sedura, with a killer on the loose,” Ambarys narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion, studying the man with intensity.

Calixto only chuckled again. He didn’t seem concerned about the danger at all.

“Maybe, friend. But from what I hear, unless someone would mistake me for a pretty girl in the dark, I think I don’t need to be concerned.”

There was a quiet moment. Aeyrin wasn’t certain if the patrons were doubting the Imperial’s sincerity or actually considering his reasoning. It seemed too dangerous to assume that he wouldn’t be targeted – there was hardly enough evidence to prove the killer’s pattern beyond any doubt.

“No skin off my back, sedura. If you’re paying, I’m pouring,” Ambarys shrugged after a while.

That seemed to be the approval everyone’s been waiting for. Idesa smiled, picking up Aeyrin’s lute again and continuing her ‘performance’. Gradually the rest of the patrons begin to drink, dance and laugh once more, mostly ignoring the newcomer. Calixto got himself a drink and sat at a table in the corner alone, watching the crowd with a gentle smile.

Susanna grabbed Aeyrin, leading her through the cheerful dances yet again.

…

“You might wanna ease up there, n’wah,” Revyn smirked at Bishop, watching the drunken dancers.

“Can’t… three bo’les…” Bishop grumbled, pressing his tankard to his chest protectively. At this point, it was a matter of pride.

“I thought you’d be more interested in other performances tonight,” Revyn chuckled and inclined his head meaningfully towards the makeshift dancefloor by the bar.

The fuck was he talking about? Did he mean Aeyrin? Not like they couldn’t do _that_ anytime… He liked it better outside the cities anyways and there was barely any privacy at the cornerclub.

He raised his brow at the elf – it was currently easier than talking.

“Come on, n’wah, don’t play daft… look at them…” Revyn gestured somewhat grandiosely towards Aeyrin and Susanna dancing among the crowd. “Those two are getting real friendly. If you play your cards right, you might need twice as much energy,” he snickered suggestively.

Bishop snorted at him. Not like _that_ would happen, no matter how drunk she was. Bishop was sure that she was not going to get that intimate with anyone this fast.

Besides, he was hardly interested in that. When they barely knew each other, he might have found that an interesting prospect, but now? Just the thought of _anyone_ else touching her made him grit his teeth. What she did, the sounds she made, it was _only_ for him.

He’s never been concerned with commitment or fidelity before, but with her, he was seeing things in a different light for some reason.

He’s never felt this possessive before either, but it simply irked him even when someone else looked at her wantonly.

He didn’t think he could ever feel this strongly about anyone, but surprisingly enough, it didn’t scare him in the least.

What scared him were the many ways he could fuck it all up.

“Not… inter’sted…” he scoffed, taking another swig from his tankard.

“You serious, n’wah? Come on, don’t tell me you’re not tempted…” Revyn smirked at him again, nudging the air with his elbow in a makeshift gesture of amicability.

“Not sh… sharing ‘er,” Bishop grumbled at him. Fuck, he needed to sober up a bit. At this rate, he’d be down in a few more sips.

Ravyn laughed heartily at him, narrowing his eyes at the dancefloor for a while, pondering.

“Well then… I might just see if I can chat up out newfound snowberry friend,” he gave Bishop a cheeky wink… it looked like it, at least. He was getting kind of blurry.

The bile was starting to rise in Bishop’s throat.

He really needed to sober up a bit.

…

After some time Aeyrin looked over to where Bishop was sitting, finding him nowhere to be seen.

She got a bit worried. It was concerning how codependent she was… but he _was_ really drunk, who knew what trouble he could get himself into.

Susanna didn’t seem inclined to let go of her so she could investigate though, swirling her wildly and making her a bit nauseous again. Dancing was not a smart activity when one’s drunk.

With a wry shake of her head Aeyrin headed back towards one of the chairs, hoping that her head would stop spinning soon.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding… you really can’t dance,” Susanna laughed merrily as she took a seat next to her. She had an admirable resilience to alcohol. Maybe it was a Nord thing. Bishop was certainly able to drink more that anyone she’s ever seen.

“Y-yeah… it’s fine here, everyone’s… drun-…drunk and friendly. It was _way_ worse at the… at the ball,” she stammered a bit, her head still swirling. She was lucky she wasn’t this drunk at the ball. That came later during the memorable afterparty…

“A ball? You went to a ball? You get invited to the best places!” Susanna gave out a mock pout before peering at Aeyrin curiously: “Tell me about it.”

As Aeyrin’s dizziness slowly subsided, she started to tell Susanna about the ball in Solitude. She enjoyed sharing these things with her. The Companions generally didn’t care about her stories from social events and Lydia only groaned at how annoying it must have been. To be honest, as uncomfortable as she was during the event, there were moments that she really enjoyed and she was excited to share them with someone who wasn’t put off by the mere mention of ‘ball’”

She did mostly leave out the drama between Bishop and Casavir – only noting that they knew each other from before and didn’t get along.

…

“So… you’re really uncomfortable with the Dragonborn thing? I would have thought you’d enjoy the perks…” Susanna pondered after Aeyrin finished telling her about the events of the ball.

“Perks?” Aeyrin scoffed in response. She didn’t notice any perks whatsoever – there was only pain, scrutiny and social pressure.

“Look around, sweetie. You went to a ball with a paladin who paid for an expensive dress and jewelry. Meanwhile the elves here are getting let go from their low-paying jobs because Ulfric constantly paints them as monsters,” Susanna looked around the room sadly. Most of the elves were already calming down their celebration – too drunk or too tired to continue the singing and dancing.

“That’s not… not fair… you make it soun… sound like I don’t care. And I never… I never asked for this…” Aeyrin sighed. It wasn’t as if she had enough money to spare to help the whole quarter out of poverty. And she had a responsibility now with the dragons around – she couldn’t exactly sell all her equipment to help the needy then tackle the dragons bare-handed.

Besides, if her influence actually meant anything whatsoever, she would have been able to make sure that Ulfric couldn’t hurt the people as much as he did. As it stood, she was barely a figurehead. Even the Legion’s general only wanted to use her as a tool, without any concern for her own plans and ideas.

“I didn’t mean it like that… It’s just that you discount it so adamantly. Other people would have used it to their advantage. In fact… they already do…” Susanna’s brows creased somewhat worriedly.

“Whaddyou talking about?” Aeyrin scowled in confusion

“I… may have overheard some things some time ago…” Susanna shook her head exasperatedly before explaining.

“Last time you were here, when you got sick, it was only a short while before you left… Two soldiers were drinking at the Candlehearth Hall. They were talking about a dragon attack on their military camp. They said that they managed to slay the beast. After that, apparently the dragon… disintegrated or something. They said that its soul was consumed… that it travelled in the direction of the city. They… they thought that… Ulfric absorbed it. That he was the ‘real Dragonborn’, that you were just a pretender, sent by the Thalmor to get the Stormcloaks to defect or something. I don’t know how much of that was true… I’m not sure how it would have been possible… but… Ulfric _can_ Shout, you know? Is it possible that…” she gave Aeyrin a questioning look, worry etched on her face. The thought of Ulfric being a Dragonborn clearly unsettled her.

It was no wonder. The support he could garner if it were true…

Aeyrin shook her head vehemently. Not that Susanna had that kind of a pull that she could stop whatever rumors were circulating, but still… she felt like she needed to set the record straight before any of this got out of hand.

“It… it wasn’t Ulfric. It was me… I was try-trying to get back to the city. I saw them kill the drag… the dragon… I… guess it might’ve looked… like the soul went… back here…” Aeyrin stammered in her inebriation, her thoughts swirling with the implications of what would happen if the Stormcloaks actually believed she wasn’t really a Dragonborn. They may just try to kill her outright.

“I see… that’s kind of a relief. But still… I’ve heard the same rumor several other times after you were already gone. Once… once I was walking through the city and there was a contingent of soldiers along with Ulfric by the gates. I don’t know what they were discussing, but one of the soldiers laughed that they had nothing to fear with ‘the Dragonborn’ by their side. Ulfric just… he didn’t even say anything. I think he lets those rumors go around on purpose. I don’t know why… it might get him more followers. But it’s concerning…” Susanna sighed, checking the empty bottles on the table for some remaining alcohol. There was none, aside from the rest of Bishop’s third sujamma. She didn’t dare touch that.

It was hardly surprising to hear. Ulfric definitely seemed like the type to revel in such attention. And he was undoubtedly cunning enough to use it to his advantage. These thoughts were starting to fill Aeyrin with more and more anxiety. This could all turn ugly for her really fast…

“Gather ‘round! Gather r… ‘round!” a loud raspy voice interrupted their talk. Belyn Hlaalu, another one of the Dunmer farmers stood in front of the bar in a slightly wobbly stance, wide grin on his face and surprisingly enough, Calixto by his side.

“Our ‘perial friend over here… volun… volun… volunteered to wake y’all from your stu-stupor. He’s got stories from his trav’ls… ‘bout some… weird crap that ‘pened to him,” Belyn laughed heartily, smacking Calixto across his back amicably. He missed slightly and hit his shoulder instead.

Some of the patrons got up from their seats lazily and sat themselves on the ground in front of the two men. Others perked up somewhat in their chairs while the rest of them continued to try to sleep.

Susanna and Aeyrin shrugged at each other, both rather glad for the change of topic as Calixto started to weave his tales.

…

“There you are! Where’d you… where’d you go?”

Aeyrin exclaimed when Bishop appeared at the table at last, ushering her to stand up right away. He sat down on her chair and dragged her back to his lap, curling his arms around her with satisfied smile.

He looked a little better than he did before he left. The lull in alcohol intake likely did him some good.

He still smelled like a brewery though.

But then again, so did the rest of the patrons, likely including her.

Susanna seemed to be ignoring them, looking in rasp attention at Calixto telling his stories. She was occasionally whispering something to Revyn, who was sitting next to her, snickering under her breath along with him.

“Throwing up… then getting some air by the broken roof…” Bishop smirked a little tiredly. He really seemed determined to pass his own challenge.

Aeyrin threw him a somewhat disgusted look, earning a chuckle from him. He raised his hands defensively, letting go of her for a brief second before curling them around her again: “Hey, I washed!”

She snorted at him, but she rested her woozy head on his shoulder nonetheless. Well… at least he wouldn’t get alcohol poisoning or something like that after the amount he already consumed. She really hoped he would manage to finish the bottle so that would be the end of his obsession. She wouldn’t really be bothered by him getting drunk, but this challenge was getting worrisome. He didn’t even know what he was getting as a reward and he made the whole thing up himself. She didn’t think dares worked that way…

“Why… why three bottles?” she murmured at him after a while of pondering.

Bishop chuckled, looking at his tankard with a measure of reluctance before taking as deep of a swig as he could manage – likely eager to get it over with.

“It’s a… thing… from when I took a hunting trip to Morrowind. Weren’t a lot of Dunmer around anymore but I came upon a small community…” he smiled wistfully, swirling the liquid in his tankard for a while before setting it back down. His arm draped back over her stomach, pulling her closer to his chest.

“I went to their cornerclub, tried their drinks. Liked this one…” he pointed to the bottle of sujamma with creased brows, as if he was wondering why he ever liked it. “The patrons started to goad me that I couldn’t handle it. That a Nord wouldn’t outdrink them. So eventually the innkeeper said that if anyone in the whole tavern could handle three whole bottles, they’d get a reward. He had this… artifact. It was a bow… some adventurer paid his debts with it. And I _really_ fucking wanted it. But no one actually won that night. The innkeeper laughed, that no one could ever handle three bottles. I don’t even remember most of the night…” he chuckled lightly.

“Still… even if I didn’t get the bow… it was a good night. I kinda needed that… It was right after… after all that shit went down with Elisie and the tin-head. It was a good place to clear my head for a while…” he sighed, grabbing the tankard again and drinking with palpable disgust.

She looked at his faraway gaze for a while. She turned her head to him and kissed his neck gently, her back nestling closer to him.

“What’re you try-trying to forget now?” she creased her brows slightly, looking him over again.

“Nothing… just wanna prove that damn innkeeper wrong…” Bishop snickered and gave another determined stare to the bottle.

…

The light started to creep through the small windows and the cracks in the wooden walls.

The curfew was officially over and all the patrons were free to return to their homes.

None of them did, though – the main event of the evening was just about to unfold.

“Come on, n’wah! A few more sips! You can do it!” Revyn laughed. He was still sitting close to Susanna, grabbing her by the shoulders amicably as they chuckled together.

“Dnnnn’t do it! ‘Tss POISON!” Malthyr was surprisingly still conscious, but his torso was splayed on the table, head resting against the moldering wood. His body was not moving at all.

Bishop was sitting on the floor, his back against the pleasantly cold wall. His right hand clutched the decorated bottle, the other the elf curled around him with her eyes half-lidded in weariness.

He tried to ‘walk off’ his drunkenness at some point only to stumble over a chair. He decided to stay on the ground rather than attempting to get up. Aeyrin joined him down there eventually. It looked oddly inviting and she was so tired – the wooden chairs were too uncomfortable and she didn’t want to go to bed before seeing if Bishop finished to bottle.

It wasn’t as if they were the only ones on the floor anyways… the night has certainly been eventful for all the patrons.

“Remember, n’wah. The bet was that you’ll finish three _and_ remain standing,” Ambarys chuckled at his efforts.

Bishop looked so much better after his sobering trip around the cornerclub before, but several tankards later, his attempts were erased and he was right back to his deliriously drunken state.

He raised his hand tiredly, pressing the bottle to his lips with obvious disgust.

Maybe this would dissuade him from ever drinking that thing again…

He drank slowly. The tavern was eerily quiet while the only thing echoing through the air were the strenuous gulps he made.

At last his hand shot up victoriously. He propped up the empty bottle to the air before his arm fell back down weakly.

The tavern erupted in loud cheer and the patrons started to yell and encourage Bishop to stand up.

Aeyrin disentangled herself from him with a tired chuckle, giving him the room to maneuver.

He let out a couple of slurred swear words, supporting himself on the cold wall as he practically crawled against it to get himself up on his feet.

Finally he was confident that he could keep his balance, detaching himself from the wall and raising his hand in triumph.

“One… two… three… four…” Ambarys smirked, showing Bishop his hand as his fingers sprang up one by one while he counted. He instantly earned an angry and impatient growl from the swaying Bishop.

“Ten! Nchow, n’wah. Never thought to see this…”

The patrons started to cheer excitedly again while Ambarys grumbled something about thinking up a reward later.

Faryl rushed towards Bishop, supporting him and draping his arm over his shoulder. His brother Aval helped Aeyrin on her own feet and they both led them towards the stairs to the sleeping area.

“Get ‘im a bucket!” Belyn laughed, watching the scene in amusement.

“Alright, show’s over. Now get! I need to sleep too,” Ambarys waved the crowd off with a smile, but after he looked over the messy room, his brows creased instantly.

Susanna rushed towards the two brothers dragging the drunken couple upstairs. She leaned towards Bishop and Aeyrin, hoping they were still lucid enough to hear her: “I’ll see you two tomorrow at the Candlehearth, you hear? Or… well, I guess it’s _today_ already. Anyway I… I can’t thank you enough, really. I haven’t had this much fun in ages. I can’t remember the last time I was actually excited for what the next day would bring.”

She let out a genuine smile, giving them each a fierce hug in turn, as much as it was possible with the two Dunmer still supporting them.

She must have really been so lonely since Narvur died. It was heartwarming to see her this cheerful.

Aeyrin wavered, clinging to both Aval and Susanna at the same time before the barmaid disentangled herself from her.

“T’morrow,” she nodded.


	85. Fatal Affections

He was _never_ drinking again.

Well, that wasn’t true of course. No one who ever thought that after a drunken night ever meant it, but he certainly wasn’t going to drink for some time.

Except for mead.

How else would he get rid of a hangover?

He tried to open his eyes, but the light from the broken thatching on the roof was stinging him even through his eyelids.

He could feel Aeyrin shivering against him, trying to cling closer to him to warm up. The torn up blanket wasn’t very effective. It looked like it was actually one of the banners from the walls, thrown on the bed when it was too used up.

Aeyrin stirred beside him, enveloping his torso with her arms. Her hands were freezing, but it was rather pleasant, given his current state. She buried her face in his chest and nuzzled against the fabric of his shirt lazily.

He groaned, turning on his side with effort. He draped his arms over her in turn, pulling her tightly against him.

For someone who claimed that he didn’t ‘get cuddly’, he sure got affectionate when they were lying together, even when there was no chance in it leading to sex. With the state they were in, they would be lucky to actually get up.

It must have been way past noon.

The sun was shining sharply at them through the roof. There was loud snoring coming from the corner of the sleeping area – likely another passed out drunk who was staying at the cornerclub.

Aeyrin tried to disentangle herself from him, but he embraced her tighter, not letting go.

“Not yet… sleep…” he grumbled tiredly into her ear.

“I’m cold…” she protested. Her voice was muffled by his body when she buried herself into his chest further – he was a good source of heat, but it wasn’t nearly enough in that cornerclub with the broken roof and old moldered walls.

He groaned again. As if she wasn’t cold all the time… But he _would_ probably feel better once he got some mead and food in him.

They scrambled off the bed with exhaustion slowly, while Malthyr was still snoring in the back of the room, face buried in the old flat pillow.

They really needed to get back to the Candlehearth Hall to recuperate.

…

“N’wah, I’ve been racking my brain since I woke up…” Ambarys grumbled half-morosely and half-excitedly. It was obvious he was somewhat impressed with Bishop’s ‘accomplishment’ – if one could call getting plastered from Dunmer spirits an accomplishment.

“The only things of value I have is sentimental shit of no use to a snowberry. But I _did_ figure out something…” he gave them a conspiratorial smile, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“You remember Belyn Hlaalu? His cousin was an adventurer. She got a hold of an old map and came to Skyrim to follow up on it. The poor f’lah got killed before she could explore the place and the map stayed with Belyn. The s’wit asked for a month of free drinks for it, so you better be damn grateful.”

Bishop unfolded the map tentatively.

“It’s a… Dwemer site…” he mumbled, peering at the map. It was obvious from the layout with the large rectangular halls.

It was clear that it was only partial – whoever made it, they didn’t get to the end of the complex. But it _was_ detailed. So detailed that it would be worth exploring – with notes on traps and any still active mechanisms and automatons. And the fact that the maker of the map didn’t get too deep only made it more probable that there was some potential loot left behind. Dwemer sites had the best treasures, they could really make good money from it, _if_ they survived.

“A Dwemer ruin? Really?” Aeyrin beamed excitedly, like a child getting a present.

Bishop smirked at her eagerness and passed the map to her for safekeeping. It would be worth it only for that attitude of hers.

“Alright… thanks, Ambarys. You _do_ know where it is, right?” he chuckled a bit, earning a scoff from Ambarys. The Dunmer waited for Aeyrin to fish out her map and marked the site on it promptly.

“Belyn checked it out in some history book. It’s called Ralbard or Ralbadar or some such. You two be careful when you go. I hear those freaky machines are damn dangerous. Probably best that Belyn’s cousin never made it there. Then again… she’s dead anyways, so…” Ambarys chuckled with a brief shrug.

…

The Candlehearth Hall was bustling again.

Many patrons were enjoying the afternoon there, all before the sun set and the atmosphere got more tense again with the killer on the loose.

Yet instead of the exhausted frantic hustle that Susanna was in the previous days, today she was smiling widely at everyone, cheerfully running around the common room while she brought everyone drinks and food. She had a constant dreamy smile on her face.

“You look… chipper,” Aeyrin smiled at her when she finally found a minute to sit down with them. Her cheeks were already flushed from indulging herself occasionally along with the patrons.

“And you two look like you’ve been mauled by a sabre cat,” she laughed in response.

They were still somewhat wrecked from the previous night, but the food and the drinks helped some.

“I… have to tell you something…” Susanna giggled with a sly smile on her lips, as if she had a secret she couldn’t wait to share.

“I kind of… met someone… last night,” the blush on her cheeks turned deeper red and she bit her lower lip coyly. “After we all left the cornerclub, he caught up to me and… well… we talked for a while on the streets… and he invited me to his place tonight,” she smirked knowingly, a pleased smile on her lips.

“You know… for the first time since Narvur, I actually liked someone. I can’t remember the last time I was excited about the prospect. And for the first time… I want to… have something maybe more permanent… umm… no offence…” she realized herself, throwing Bishop an uncertain look.

He laughed at her trepidation heartily, dismissing the remark with a wave of his hand. Not like he _ever_ even wanted something more ‘permanent’ with her either. They both knew that the one night was all there was to it.

“Who was it?” Aeyrin asked her eagerly. It looked like she also wanted to change the subject from their past ‘dalliance’ as quickly as possible.

“Revyn, right?” Bishop gave her a knowing grin. He remembered vaguely the Dunmer giving the barmaid looks. He also remembered them being almost joined at the hip throughout the evening.

“I… really shouldn’t say. We promised each other to keep it a secret for now,” Susanna giggled again. She was like a young girl with her attention captured by a boy for the first time.

“Come on, you can tell _us,_ ” Aeyrin prodded further, poking her arm teasingly. It was nice, seeing her this happy. She deserved some contentment in her life after everything she’s been through. And to be honest, Aeyrin _did_ feel somewhat proud of herself for helping these events along.

“Hmm… I really shouldn’t. Besides, if things go well, you’ll find out soon enough. He really seemed to like me a lot. I think… I think this could really turn into something special,” Susanna bit her lower lip again and looked dreamily at the table. “Anyway… what about you two? Did you finally get your reward?” she deflected, turning to Bishop with a brief chuckle.

“From Ambarys, yeah,” Bishop smirked. He was wary of exploring Dwemer ruins, but with that map, it didn’t seem so daunting. It couldn’t have been much larger than the mapped out areas, hopefully. And it was too good of a tip to pass up.

“From Ambarys? Who else are you expecting a reward from?” Susanna gave him a curious look, but his suggestive smirk and meaningful look towards Aeyrin gave her the answer instantly.

Aeyrin flushed as if on command, groaning and hiding her face in her hands. It elicited a laugh from the both of them.

“Well, enjoy yourselves, but I hope you’ll stay here until sundown. Elda said that the bard was coming back to play here again for the afternoon,” Susanna smiled. She was likely expecting a different reaction from them than shock.

“The bard… you mean Alec? I thought he went back to… other provinces,” Aeyrin said uncertainly. There was no way the man could have been back already, right? Unless he didn’t spend any time wherever he went at all. And more importantly, why would he? He didn’t want to play in Windhelm in the first place.

“I don’t know about that. I don’t have any more information than you,” Susanna shrugged noncommittally, the smile and dreamy look still on her face.

Bishop and Aeyrin shared an uncertain expression.

It was suspicious at best.

…

Bishop was not happy at all about seeing that fop again.

It _did_ sound pretty suspicious that he was back in Windhelm, but there was no reason to concern themselves or getting involved in any way.

Besides, if his return had something do with Ulfric, he was best avoided.

But she insisted, of course.

She wanted to make sure that he was alright after they left him at Ulfric’s mercy after the concert.

It was strange that he was going to play at Candlehearth again – the last time he was there, it was only to meet Aeyrin, if what he said was true. Why would he play there again? It was unlikely that he somehow found out about her return if he wasn’t even in the city. And why would he want to see her again anyways? She made it clear last time that she was not interested in being the subject of his songs.

The telltale feather appeared first, emerging from the staircase leading to the common room, followed by the colorful hat and finally the man himself.

“Alec!” Aeyrin rushed towards him right away, eager to find out what was going on.

“Oh… my lady… what are you doing here?” Alec’s brows creased somewhat worriedly. He looked different from last time – weary, gloomy and as if all the suave charm left him.

What happened to him?

He eyes seemed to dart around frantically for a brief while before they settled on her, waiting for her response with palpable impatience.

“I… I just had some business in the city… I was more surprised to hear that _you_ were back… I wouldn’t have thought you’d like to play here again,” Aeyrin said a little nervously. His strange mood rattled her.

“Yes… well… the audience was superb here. I suppose this city grew on me…” he looked around again. This time around his speech seem to lack the feeling and drama in the eloquent superfluous manner. It was oddly unsettling.

She was somewhat dumbfounded. He seemed so eager to get away from her. The interest he showed her the last time was now completely gone. She found it very hard to keep up the conversation this way, but she wanted to know what happened.

“I… see. Alec, I just… I was hoping that… you didn’t get in trouble after the concert. It’s just… Ulfric seemed upset and…” she trailed of, uncertain of how to continue. To be honest, she half-expected him to have been dead. Maybe she was thinking too little of Ulfric’s methods, but to her, it seemed like he would take any insult to him very poorly.

“No, no, no. No trouble at all, milady. I… I really should… I should be playing already,” he explained rather hastily, then gave her an obviously feigned polite smile. A second later he turned his attention to a few patrons who were looking at him expectantly at the other side of the room.

“Oh… alright… can we… can we speak after your performance?” she asked, completely thrown off by his attitude.

“I… would prefer if we didn’t, my lady. I am not staying here overnight and I should not move through the streets too late in the dark carelessly. Besides… I think we talked about everything after my last performance,” he brushed her off, heading towards the other side of the room instantly while completely ignoring her.

What was that?

Was he really that angry that she didn’t want to travel with him?

But why was he acting so strangely this entire time? The conspicuous looking around, the strange lack of flowery speech and expressive gestures. And he looked so… ragged.

She returned to their table dejectedly. At times she still looked over the small crowd forming around the bard.

An easy smile spread on Alec’s face when he started talking to a young pretty woman. He grabbed his lute with a confident grin, his eyes steadfast on her. It reminded her of the eager way he looked at _her_ when they met.

Perhaps he really _was_ upset with her and she was just imagining the suspicious circumstances.

She was probably just starting to get paranoid about Ulfric – his behavior certainly put one on edge.

…

* “Wait a minute! So you get drunk out of the Outer Realms and I’m supposed to do whatever you come up with?” Aeyrin giggled at him when he pinned her against the wall. He didn’t waste a second after they entered the room, murmuring in her ear something half-intelligible about ‘claiming his reward’.

“That’s right, sweetness. Don’t act like you weren’t impressed,” he chuckled against her skin, nipping at the side of her neck teasingly. His hands started to roam all over her body in eager hungry squeezes.

“Right… so impressive…” she laughed in response. Her heartbeat was getting faster at his exploits, her breathing steadily getting heavier. She really wasn’t impressed, but on the other hand, she was quite excited and curious by what he would come up with as his ‘reward’.

“So… what exactly… do you think your… _feat_ … deserves?” she chuckled again, arching her back against the wall with a soft whimper as one of his hands slipped inside her trousers, rather faster than she expected, and teased her against her undergarments mercilessly.

“Mmmm… I was thinking…” Bishop murmured. She felt him grin against the skin of her collarbone. “You remember… our first night… at the warrens?” The hand in her trousers moved inside her undergarments, his fingers teasing over her slit, rubbing over her clit and making her moan out loudly. She quickly placed a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

Did he mean the gag? She _did_ rather enjoy that back in Ivarstead, but she still kind of expected him to come up with something new.

“We… already… did… nnhg!” she gasped out, her hand abruptly returning to muffle the sound when his fingers entered her. His other hand landed firmly on her buttocks, squeezing her lower half towards him. The back of her head kept pressing against the wall, her free hand supporting her by leaning against the closed door, fingers digging into the wood.

“Not the… gag… princess…” he groaned, his lips and tongue moved over the crease between breasts that the tight tunic created. The sighs she was letting out were driving him wild.

What did he mean ‘not the gag’? What else… oh…

“You… you want to… tie me up?” she gave him an uncertain look in between her heavy breaths while his fingers kept moving inside her languidly. Ordinarily, she would have thought that she’d feel put off by the idea of being so helpless… but… then again, being so helpless with Bishop in the room made her somewhat excited…

It was so strange how things that made her feel so afraid back then suddenly felt so tantalizing – she couldn’t stop imagining what he would do to her like that.

“Yeah… you want to?” he stopped nipping at her skin for a while and raised his eyes from her cleavage. The movements of his fingers inside her stopped for a while as he gave her a rather earnest look, waiting for her reaction.

The lascivious smile he gave her when she nodded breathlessly said it all.

He withdrew his hands from her and they quickly started to undress each other. She wondered for a while if he intended to include the gag again, but all too often he seemed eager to actually hear her. She couldn’t really help herself when she was entangled with him, her concerns about being loud usually disappeared when she got too caught up in their ministrations.

It was no different now, if anything, the prospect of what was going to happen made any other thought in her mind dissipate practically instantly.

They made their way towards the bed quickly. He tore himself away from her after a while, turned to the packs on the floor and grabbed the length of rope fastened to one of them.

She waited impatiently on the bed, watching him cut off a measure of the rope with his hunting knife and approach her with the familiar intensity in his eyes.

He placed the rope down on the bed beside her, moving on top of her. His hands grasped her wrists and nudged her arms upwards above her head.

She stayed like that obligingly when his grip on her wrists left her, but her body kept writhing against his in anticipation.

He started to fasten the rope on her, winding her wrists tightly together, the rough strings scratching her skin. He gave her a questioning look, but she only nodded at him to continue. For some reason, the uncomfortable feeling of the rope only spurred her further – it weirdly reminded her of his rough stubble against her skin. She loved that feeling.

He dragged the ends of the rope towards the headboard of the bed and tied them around one of the wooden planks with enough room to still maneuver her body to some measure.

When he was finally done, he moved his attention back to her, quickly descending on her lips. Their passionate kiss made her want to run her hands in his hair or over the hard muscles on his back.

But she couldn’t.

It was oddly frustrating and exciting at the same time.

His lips moved down her body, stopping for a while to tease her heaving breasts, his hands squeezing them, firmly. He moved lower gradually as she writhed under him, moaning at the feeling of his mouth on her.

He stopped to lick at the wetness between her legs, the tip of his tongue teasing along her slit, making her spasm under him. A frustrated groan escaped her throat. His hands moved to the backs of her thighs, raising her lower body and making her drape her legs over his shoulders eagerly to give him more access.

The quivering inside her was getting uncontrollable.

His tongue entered her depths swiftly. His hands left her upper thighs, letting her support her weight herself by her legs around his neck. His left hand traveled back up her body to squeeze her breast again, the other one teasing over her wetness alongside his tongue.

“Gods...” she gasped out when two of his fingers entered her. His mouth was suckling at her nub along with his thumb occasionally strumming over it, his little finger was teasingly rubbing over the area around her other entrance, making her jolt in surprise and unexpected pleasure. Divines, how was he able to undo her so fast?

She felt herself get close, the teasing on so many fronts making her spasm frantically, her walls clenching around his fingers.

Then suddenly, just as she felt like she would get over the edge, he stopped, withdrawing from her entirely.

She whined desperately at him and her eyes snapped open to see the smug smirk on his face.

“Not yet, princess,” he chuckled. He lowered himself back onto her, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself on his tongue.

His hard cock rubbed against her, but he didn’t enter her yet. He was waiting for her body to frustratingly calm down without release. She got the urge to touch herself, tugging at her bindings several times with an exasperated groan.

“Something wrong?” he smirked at her again, his eyes merry and teasing.

“Bish… please…” she moaned, rubbing herself against him eagerly, her arms tugging at the rope again, unable to move things along.

He watched her in amusement for a while. Her desperate struggle for release was exciting him even further. No one else could give that to her just then. She needed him… it felt strangely intoxicating. He wanted her to need him. Not just now, not just like this.

He wanted her to need him all the time.

Like he needed her.

He never thought he could find himself so attached to anyone. Just the thought of losing her gave him an unpleasant pit in his stomach.

But he shouldn’t think about _that._

Right now, everything was perfect.

Her black eyes looked at him pleadingly, her body still writhing under him in desperation.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, aligning herself with the tip of him, but her bindings didn’t allow her to move further, making her groan in frustration yet again.

He chuckled one last time before slowly entering her, filling her languidly and savoring the long moan she gave out along with the tightness of her warm walls around him.

“Ah… Gods! Bishop!” she moaned out when he started to thrust into her, hard. The sound of his name in that lustful tone made him groan loudly, biting into the skin of her breasts hungrily while his hands kneaded them, moving along to the rhythm of his thrusts.

He felt her clench him inside tighter, her walls quivering around him wildly. She was close, but he got the strange urge to feel that desperate need from her again.

He withdrew suddenly, watching her face twist in frustration, her legs tightening around him, urging him to continue. His hands grabbed at her thighs firmly, forcing her to release her clutch on him.

“Bishop… please… I need…” she breathed heavily. Her breasts were heaving tantalizingly, sweat pooling over her chest and forehead.

He waited for a while again as his eyes roamed all over her, taking in every detail.

He grabbed her by the hips then, flipping her over on her knees. The knot around the headboard twisted, tightening the rough fastenings around her wrists while her elbows bent to support her weight, leaving her hips raised towards him.

He entered her again in this position almost instantly, their mutual moans and groans started to rise on frequency as his pace quickened gradually.

His hands hugged her from behind and he firmly grabbed her breasts, pinching her nipples in between the heavy thrusts.

Finally she could feel the sweet buildup once more, desperately hoping he wouldn’t stop again.

At last he didn’t. Another loud moan escaped her lips when she finally felt the powerful jolt course through her and the sweet pulsating around him made him follow suit only a minute later. 

“Fuck… that was… fuck…” he gasped deeply, trying to catch his breath.

He withdrew from her after a while and turned her back over. Unfortunately, he did that the other way than he should have, tightening the rope again a bit painfully.

His eyes still held the same hungry intensity that made her go wild and the urge to continue their ministrations was stirring up inside her again.

“More…” he groaned, moving to kiss her deeply once more.

At that point she wasn’t even sure who that reward was for.

…

A loud banging on the door woke him up.

What was it? It was barely after dawn.

Of course Aeyrin didn’t wake up at that.

Bishop got up groggily, securing the fur blanket over her and finding his trousers on the floor.

This all seemed too familiar.

He just hoped it wasn’t another dragon.

He opened the door only a fraction, this time careful not to get mauled by some overeager tit forcing their way into the room.

There was a man in Stormcloak armor outside it, staring at him with level look.

“What?” Bishop grumbled at him.

If that fucking Ulfric was trying something...

“Emergency town meeting in an hour in front of the Palace. Mandatory,” the man pronounced. He almost managed to turn on his heel before Bishop stopped him.

What the fuck was that? A town meeting? Was Ulfric now gonna torture an elf publically or something?

“Why? We’re just travelers,” Bishop narrowed his eyes at the soldier. He was really hoping to get out of whatever this shit was.

“Doesn’t matter. Mandatory for everyone. New orders coming in. There’s been another murder,” the man nodded and this time he really left in a hurry.

Another? Fuck, this was probably gonna get bad. Who knew what shit Ulfric came up with this time?

He wondered just who was skilled enough to get past all the soldiers at night.

Well, it was safer to see what happened anyways.

No need to give Ulfric any reason to single them out.

…

They still had some time before the meeting, but they decided to leave the inn anyway.

There was a strangely tense and uncomfortable atmosphere there, but then again, the streets weren’t any better.

A large crowd by one of the underpasses caught their attention.

It was a rarely visited place, draped in utter darkness in the night – there was only one thing that could be there that would attract so many people.

They approached tentatively, weaving through the crowd carefully to see the source of the commotion.

The body was propped against one of the walls in a sitting position, no blood anywhere around. An unpleasant alchemical scent was coming off of it.

A young woman, Nord.

Long blond hair was flowing over her shoulders, a simple lithe red dress covering them.

Her face… gone.

There was an occasional pulpy mass in its place, covering the skull in several places.

Someone made a meticulous care to remove the skin of her face.

But even without it, anyone who knew the girl could recognize her.

.

_* Kink warning: edging, tying up_


	86. The Powers that Be

Neither of them said a word the entire time.

They returned to their room at the Candlehearth silently, closing the door behind them.

The town meeting felt like a blur after the sight of Susanna’s mutilated body. Aeyrin vaguely remembered Ulfric’s steward stepping in front of everyone, announcing that any citizen and visitor could be detained by the soldiers at any time, if they for some reason suspected them from having a hand in the murders.

All that really meant was that Stormcloaks had even more legal right to terrorize the citizens.

She recalled Ambarys telling them something about a wake in Susanna’s memory that night at New Gnisis, but just the idea of another night spent drinking with the Dunmer made her sick to her stomach – not just because of the alcohol. She couldn’t just… spend the night drinking and doing nothing.

Not after this.

The Butcher needed to be stopped.

She sat on the bed wearily while Bishop leaned on the wall opposite her, studying her face.

“You know he’s just waiting for you to break one of his stupid orders,” his brows furrowed.

Was it really so easy for him to tell what she was thinking?

“What else is there to do?” she scoffed, shaking her head.

“Leave. Let _him_ take care of it. It’s the Nords dying, not like he can afford letting _that_ happen for long,” Bishop retorted. He didn’t get rattled easily, but the sight of Susanna’s corpse with her face peeled off was still returning to his mind. That twisted freak was obviously capable of some insane shit. _And_ they managed to escape the soldier’s notice so far. Whoever it was, they were too dangerous. Aeyrin was so reckless, especially when she was angry. Reckless people made mistakes.

At the very least, Ulfric’s orders gave him a good excuse to keep her from sharing the barmaid’s gruesome fate. The notions of survival seemed to go straight over her head when she felt like she should be ‘helping’.

“I can’t let that _maniac_ deal with this! He does nothing but use this to give his soldiers more power! Why would he _ever_ want this to stop?! And if he does… what if… what if the killer _is_ an elf? Can you even imagine what he would do to all of them? What his lackeys would do to them?” she threw her arms up in desperation, shaking her head again.

“You think it’s an elf?” Bishop raised his brow at her.

“Well… think about it. Susanna was supposed to be with that man. She left before sundown. The only way she could have been on the streets is if she left his house for some reason, and even then, the soldiers are everywhere. She was so secretive. Isn’t it more likely that whoever she was with did it?”

“Maybe… but what’s your plan exactly? Say by some fucking miracle you actually avoid all the guards and somehow manage to catch the killer. Even if there’s no real way of knowing which night he’ll strike again. So you catch him. And he’s an elf. What then? You keep it from Ulfric? You kill him? Arrange it to look like another murder? Then none of this will stop. If anything, it’ll give him a reason to scour the city for the ‘escaped killer’. Or are you planning on framing a Nord in his stead?”

She gave him a rather shocked and desperate look, unable to answer him.

He sighed tiredly and walked towards her, squatting by the bed to align his face with hers, looking into her black eyes.

“I know you’re angry, sweetness. But for fuck’s sake think this through. There’s no way you can help with this.”

“But…” her voice quivered a bit. The image of Susanna’s corpse was constantly returning to her thoughts. “I can’t… I just can’t leave like this. I don’t know what to do… but I can’t do nothing… can’t you understand that?”

“Can’t _you_ fucking understand that I don’t want you to end up like her?!” he stood up abruptly, folding his arms across his chest.

“I can take care of myself, it’s just the soldiers and…”

“You don’t fucking know that! You don’t know what that Butcher is capable of! He’s managed to go on a fucking murder rampage while the entire city’s on guard! Why are you so sure you’re gonna be the exception?! It’s not like you can’t be prevented from using your powers!”

She stared at him for a while. Everything he said was true. But it didn’t change a thing. She couldn’t just do nothing.

“Fine… then I’ll go,” he narrowed his eyes at her after a while, his arms still across his chest.

“What?”

“I’ll monitor the streets at night. The curfew doesn’t apply to me,” he shrugged. He knew exactly how she was going to react.

“NO!”

“Why not?” he scoffed. So predictable.

Good question… Maybe because she would spend her night worried to death. Maybe because they didn’t really know for certain that the Butcher only targeted women. Maybe it really _was_ a coincidence. Maybe because, while the curfew didn’t apply to him, the new order did. And ‘monitoring the streets at night’ was definitely suspicious.

“… It’s… too… dangerous…” she sighed in defeat. She _did_ understand why he wanted them to just leave. But every time she thought of that, she felt so guilty.

He sat on the bed beside her, surprisingly enough, the familiar victorious smirk didn’t appear on his face this time.

“How could _anyone_ get past the soldiers…” she sighed.

“The roofs. Invisibility. There’s options…” Bishop shrugged. He was thinking about it before and it wasn’t impossible to achieve. Although catching someone in the streets would have been rather difficult. If the killer really persuaded the victims to come to his house, then dropping the corpse was not that undoable. Aeyrin was right, Susanna’s secrecy and the timing all pointed out to her ‘date’ being the culprit.

“The roofs?” she gave him a pondering look. Wouldn’t the soldiers notice?

“There’s barely anyone up on the ramparts. I’ve checked. The roofs, especially those by the center of the city, would be a safe place to move around,” Bishop explained.

“And invisibility… that’s a… powerful spell. Only seasoned wizards know it…” Aeyrin’s brows creased.

“Ulfric has a court wizard,” he shrugged. That could point out to a whole conspiracy. Delphine would have been actually helpful in figuring this out, that crazy nutcase.

“Or… there’s potions. Quintus would definitely sell some. But if someone actually bought a large amount, he would have likely thought it suspicious… maybe he would have even reported it,” she pondered further.

“People shop at the Grey Quarter too. If the killer was an elf, he’d hardly go to Quintus,” Bishop nodded knowingly.

“Who sells potions at the Grey Quarter? There’s no alchemist…” she looked at him curiously.

“… Revyn…” Bishop’s eyes narrowed again. Would that man actually be capable of something like this? He knew some twisted people in his life, he was kinda convinced that he’d be able to tell by now. But that was naïve. He should have known that people you would never expect were the ones who could pull off the most disturbing shit.

“We… we could probably just ask Ambarys who was at the cornerclub last night…” she gave him a hopeful look. It sounded like the best and most harmless thing to do.

…

“Maybe there are some clues about his identity in Susanna’s house. Or what about that strange smell around her… her body? Maybe Karnwyr could track it…” Aeyrin racked her brain further as they walked away from the cornerclub. The wolf’s ears perked up at the mention of his name.

Ambarys claimed that everyone stayed at the cornerclub that night again, including Revyn, his sister, all the farmers and anyone else they could have thought of. Someone might have slipped out while the patrons’ attentions were somehow diverted perhaps. But the common room was small and _someone_ would have noticed a person leaving. And it definitely wouldn’t go without further notice, especially with the curfew.

If someone was dexterous enough, they might have slipped through the cracks of the roof, however. It fit with Bishop’s theory on how the killer moved around the city.

“There’s guards everywhere. At her house, at the underpass. Didn’t you notice?” Bishop retorted immediately.

She didn’t. Her thoughts were only swirling with options on how to proceed constantly.

“Maybe if we got to the roofs now and stayed through the night,” she looked up instinctively. Bishop would surely know how to remain hidden and get the best vantage point.

“Ladyship…” he sighed in exasperation. She was stubbornly not letting this go, even though they were clearly out of options.

They visited Quintus at first, but he said that no one purchased any invisibility potions from him. They went to Ambarys, who wasn’t much help either and going to see the court wizard was a really bad idea. In fact, showing their faces in front of Ulfric at all seemed like a bad idea, even though there was technically nothing he could have accused them of. For now.

“We could hide somewhere and monitor the streets like that…” Aeyrin said quietly.

“Why the fuck do you think we’ll see anything that the guards wouldn’t? And why would you think that the killer will strike again tonight? It’s always been longer than a single day…”

He was right about all that and she knew. But she just couldn’t do nothing. It was like an obsession. Susanna’s corpse kept flashing before her eyes like a strange warning whenever she even considered leaving.

It was pointless for him to fight her. They both knew it. No matter how level-headed and rational he was, she could not stop the horrible feelings in her gut unless she did _something_.

And she didn’t know what else to do. Every good lead she could think of resulted in a dead end.

She would have asked anyone who Susanna confided in about her date, but sadly, she suspected that the two of them were actually the only people she was close to.

All of that was about to change.

She was so happy. So hopeful for her life to turn around.

The world was unfair.

She had to do something to prevent this happening to anyone else.

…

It would have been a rather enjoyable way to spend the night, if it weren’t for the fact that both of them crouched on the opposite edges of the roof, hiding behind the small stone wall around it almost like on a rampart.

The skies were clear, the stars shining brightly above the green lights dancing across the vast black emptiness.

They had Karnwyr prowl the streets, hiding in the bushes. They told him to make a ruckus if he spotted anyone who didn’t ‘feel right’ to him. There was not much else to do. They were both out of ideas on how to avoid the soldiers and Ulfric’s scrutiny.

If Karnwyr alerted the guards, at least the killer could be caught. Even if it was an elf, it would probably be better than if he was still walking free.

Or she.

But since they started to suspect Susanna’s date, it was more likely that the killer was a man.

But who? If everyone was back at the cornerclub the night she was killed, who could she have been talking about?

Aeyrin concentrated on the more shadowy corners and alcoves that she could see from their vantage point, but it was so hard to make out shapes in the dark.

“This is pointless, sweetness,” Bishop sighed in a hushed voice, careful not to let it carry through the silence of the night.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know…”

There was silence again. He threw a glance back at her but her attention was fully captured by the streets below as she peeked from behind the low wall of the roof.

It was strange, but suddenly, he felt like he understood. It was similar for him after Jules died. There was nothing but this overwhelming obsession to make things right. Because nothing seemed right then. All he could think of doing was making sure that Jules’s family was safe and well. It probably never stopped. He would never forgive that fucking tin-head for ruining that.

“What do you think happens… after?” Bishop spoke after a long while, staring down at the streets. Nords loved to spew shit about glorious deaths in battle and Sovngarde, but he wasn’t sure if he believed any of that. For all he knew, it was just fairy tales to ease their minds. He never really took anything to do with Gods seriously – it all just seemed like overzealous propaganda.

“You know… I’m not sure myself. I asked the priests for the answers many times. Usually they talked of Arkay and going to his side. Some seemed to think that as followers of Stendarr, our souls would go to him. Then a visiting Bosmer priest told me about Y’ffre and the Green Pact. And something called… Ooze. I honestly don’t know how that works if I’ve never even been to Valenwood and I’ve barely even heard of her and her… Ooze…” Aeyrin wrinkled her nose, her rapt attention on the streets was finally diverted by pondering on the subject. It always felt so complicated to her… and she wasn’t even considering the whole business with soul trapping or the Dreamsleeve. Those went right over her head in her studies.

“One of the books about the Dragonborn also said that they are bound to Akatosh. And another one said that they are destined for Sovngarde… with the Nords,” she smiled lightly. Why was that oddly comforting? Why would any place full of Nords be comforting? Maybe just some specific Nords… No matter… anything was better than whatever that Ooze was…

“You believe all that? It sounds… weird and made up…” he scoffed slightly. He never got the point of finding comfort in the afterlife. There was none in life, why should there be any after you croak? How did not being able to survive merit any kind of reward? And why should anyone live their lives subjected to the will of someone they’ve never even really seen, just because some book told them that if they don’t, they’d share some horrible fate.

“I… guess… I suppose we have to go somewhere, right? It just seemed rather complicated to me. If everything I’ve heard and read on that subject was true, whole pantheons of several cultures would be arguing about who gets my soul,” she giggled lightly, but it was more disturbing than anything else.

There was another moment of silence. Even though he never really believed this shit, there was still questions on his mind at times he couldn’t get rid of. Would he ever see Jules again? And now… would he get to stay with her?

“Why did you ask me that?” she turned towards him for a brief while, seeing him look down on the street with creased brows.

“No reason, I guess… I just… wondered if she’s with him…”

Silence again. She wished she knew more, to be assured that Susanna was back with the man she loved and lost.

Aeyrin even wished for Susanna to have stayed on Nirn as a ghost – unavenged, waiting until the killer was caught and she could pass on.

But this way, it painfully seemed that Aeyrin was the only one who cared about her death. Rationally, she knew that wasn’t true. But she couldn’t shake the feeling anyways.

Wait, was there some strange shadow by one of the dark alcoves?

The guards all had torches, it must have been someone who didn’t want to be seen.

Aeyrin sprung up, making sure that her knife was still hidden in her boot.

“Wait here, watch the streets,” she hissed at Bishop quietly and headed quickly towards their access route – she could jump down from one of the lower roofs and get to the alcove like that.

“What?!” Bishop turned around sharply. What the fuck was she doing now?! She was too fast and alert, already jumping over the small gap between roofs, out of his grasp.

Fuck! Why was she so damn reckless?! Someone would see her! And where the fuck was she even going?!

He crawled towards the other edge of the roof, watching her move towards the streets. He wouldn’t be able to catch up before she got to the street and it wouldn’t really help anything if he got caught alongside her. Regardless of his race, the guards would definitely consider that ‘suspicious’.

Aeyrin hurried towards the darkness. There were no guards on her route. She would catch him. Then it wouldn’t matter if she got caught by the guards with the killer finally brought to justice. She rushed into the alcove, a glint of auburn-bronze hair caught her attention, glittering lightly in the moonlight. It lett her know the position of the assailant instantly.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust.

The golden eyes in front of her went wide before she noticed an outline of a finger to the lips, an angry voice hissing quietly.

“Ssssh! I need to get home before they see me. You’re the dragon girl with that Guild member, right? What are _you_ doing here?” the Altmer standing in the alcove shook her head slightly, heading closer to a door nearby.

It was the trader she bought her cloak from – the smuggler and Guild contact, Niranye.

“Me? What are _you_ doing here so late?” Aeyrin hissed right back at her in a hushed tone.

“Contact meeting. Fuckers love their cloak and dagger charades. Now shush before someone hears. I’m going home,” Niranye retorted angrily. The sound of turning key echoed lightly through the alcove and she disappeared into the door.

Bishop watched Aeyrin in the alcove. There was the occasional glint of something and shifting shadow –the only hints that she was there. What the fuck was she doing?

There was a guard coming down the street by the alcove.

_Fuck, princess, hide!_

“Come out, I know you’re in there!” the soldier bellowed, his voice carrying over the streets. Bishop could see another one of his cohorts attracted by the noise and heading towards him.

Aeyrin fidgeted nervously for a while, looking around as if for a saving grace.

None came.

_Oh Gods, what now?_

She stepped out of the shadows towards the guard’s lit torch just as another one approached them from the distance. Both of them wore a malicious grin at the sight of her.

“The orders apply to everyone, _Dragonborn_. No matter how special they _think_ they are,” the guard smirked at her victoriously.

“Yeah… delusions don’t count for much in our city, elfie. Not when we have the _real_ legend at our front,” the approaching guard laughed.

She remembered what Susanna told her. Were they really convinced that Ulfric was the ‘real’ Dragonborn?

Ordinarily she might have even liked the fact that the attention was on someone else, but with Ulfric… It was not only dangerous, but also strangely infuriating.

She was so fed up with him profiting off of their ignorance.

She was so fed up with his ego running the city and its people to the ground.

He could have even started these rumors himself! She wouldn’t put it past him. Was he really so fragile, that he needed to plot how to get more followers to his cause while his people were in danger?!

“Someone has to protect the citizens, no matter their ‘delusions’, when _you’re_ incapable,” she hissed at the men hatefully. She knew it would only make things worse, but she couldn’t help herself. The anger was bubbling up inside her already.

“How _exactly_ are you protecting anyone by skulking in the bushes, knife-ear?!” the first guard’s brows furrowed contemptfully.

“Enough of this shit. We’re taking you to the High King. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear that you’ve been acting suspicious. I bet he’ll want to interrogate you himself,” the second man smirked maliciously and pulled off a set of iron cuffs from his belt.

Dammit, that escalated fast.

Well… not like she wasn’t expecting that.

She looked up to the roof above. She couldn’t see anything but she knew Bishop was watching her. She shook her head as inconspicuously as she could, signaling for him to stay away. His presence would only make things worse, getting him into trouble alongside her. And it was not like he could help. They couldn’t just attack them after all.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” she spat at them defiantly, still unwilling to cooperate with the men.

Besides, she _really_ didn’t want to find out what Ulfric’s ‘interrogation’ entailed.

“You better do as you’re told, bitch. We’re authorized to use force!”

“Go ahead and try! We’ll see who’s delusional,” she gave him the meanest sneer she could muster, unable to help herself. She knew she couldn’t attack them, but she could at least defy them as long as it was possible. Out of the corner of the eye she could see another guard approaching from the alley.

This did not look good.

As much as she despised them, she didn’t really want to hurt these men. And it would not help anything. It would just bring a whole mess of trouble down upon her head.

She threw another tentative look up, shaking her head again. She could have sworn she heard his blood boiling.

Bishop watched the scene, fidgeting. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He didn’t even take his bow in order to look unsuspicious. Not that he could really get away with killing three guards in plain sight. He could see the windows of the houses around lighting up, the loud yelling making people curious.

He could go down and try to help her appease them, but how would _that_ even work? He was not good at this shit.

Or he could just break her out of wherever they would take.

 _That_ he was good at.

Although… the Palace of the Kings was probably a bit… beyond his capabilities…

“What is going on here?!” the crack of opening door echoed through the streets as an older Nord stepped outside of the building they previously lurked upon. He was clad in traditional Nordic noble clothing – it reminded her of the outfit Susanna lent Bishop for the concert.

“Lord Free-Winter, this does not concern you, please return to your home,” one of the guards growled at him while his hand rested on the pommel of his sword threateningly.

“It _does_ concern me when soldiers harass an esteemed visitor to our city at my doorstep. Explain yourselves!” the man stood haughtily and proudly, his arms folded across his chest with barely contained impatience.

“Your ‘esteemed visitor’ was skulking about in the shadows suspiciously, breaking the curfew, and now she refuses to come with us!” the guard retorted angrily, pointing at her.

The stranger sighed and shook his head somberly before turning his gaze to Aeyrin: “Lady Dragonborn, I’m sure there is no need to escalate things. Why don’t you tell these men what you are doing here so we can end this without any unpleasantries.”

“I already did. I was doing what they couldn’t! Trying to find that _maniac_ who killed my friend last night!” she gritted her teeth with a hateful glare still directed at the soldiers.

“Shut your mouth, knife-ear! We’ll see that bravado after the High King deals with you!” one of the men spat back at her.

“Gentlemen! This is unnecessary. I am certain that the lady did nothing that would warrant…”

“She broke the law, lord Free-Winter! We _have_ to bring her in!” another guard stopped him instantly, the iron cuffs still in his hands.

“Yes… Understandable. But I _do_ hope you understand my position. One of my off-city holdings was decimated by a dragon recently. I, as well as many other citizens, would certainly be somewhat… angered if the only person capable of preventing such events was detained in the Palace. I hope you will make sure that our… _king_ … understands the predicament,” the man’s tone carried a dangerous warning.

Did he actually have any pull with Ulfric? She kind of assumed that the nobles in Windhelm already ascribed to the theory that Ulfric was the Dragonborn. She never expected one to stand up for her.

“Whatever… we’re bringing her in…” the soldier scoffed, rattling the cuffs determinedly

“I suppose. Please, make sure that Ulfric knows I will be coming by the Palace right at sundown to make sure he did not endanger our entire province needlessly. I will be making _personally_ sure that we have protection against the dragons on behalf of mine and the other families supporting his coffers with his outrageous taxes,” the man smirked, giving her a slow nod.

That was… somewhat reassuring.

But the threat of that… ‘interrogation’ was still looming over her.

Hopefully Ulfric really couldn’t kill her. He made that somewhat clear himself during their dinner.

She really hoped he still considered her ‘necessary’.

“Lady Dragonborn, please make sure to relay the message if the good men fail to do so. My name is Brunwulf Free-Winter. I assure you that our… _king_ will know it well,” he gave her a kind and encouraging smile, again pausing oddly at Ulfric’s honorific. Did he have a problem with Ulfric calling himself the High King?

But that man’s name _did_ sound familiar. Where has she heard it before?

The soldiers seemed livid but their hands fell from their weapons; only the one holding the cuffs stepped towards her.

She sighed. It was likely the best course of action at that moment. And that man seemed like someone who could get things done.

If Ulfric tried anything… more final in the meantime, it wasn’t as if she was helpless.

That was one person she wouldn’t feel guilty about ‘Shouting to pieces’.

She stretched out her hands, letting the man cuff her. She flinched away immediately from another one of them, who tried to grab her by the shoulder to usher her towards the Palace, and walked in that direction herself.

Bishop descended from the rooftop quickly after the scene, rushing to catch the strange man before he returned to his home.

“Hey…”

“Shor’s bones! Where did _you_ come from?!” Brunwulf startled as he turned his attention from the group of people heading towards the Palace.

“Your roof. Are you seriously gonna get her out?” Bishop inquired of him. Leaving her in Ulfric’s clutches overnight wasn’t exactly the option he wanted to take, but…

“My… roof?” the man looked up in confusion, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Who are you?”

“I’m with her… we were watching the streets for the killer. What did all _that_ do? Can you actually get her out? What’s he gonna do to her?” he insisted, looking at the man in suspicion. It seemed odd that Ulfric would just bow down to some noble from his city.

“I… am uncertain of what he will do. But I am sure that it won’t be anything that could… jeopardize her potential assistance against the dragons. As much as he might hate it, he needs her alive and willing to protect his people if it comes to that, no matter the rumors he allows to circulate,” Brunwulf shook his head incredulously, but give Bishop an encouraging smile a second later.

“And I assure you, he _will_ let her out at my insistence. Ulfric may have the manpower and support of able-bodied soldiers, but war requires money and nobility support, which the man lacks sorely. He tries his best to woo them with expensive banquets and concerts, but in the end, we all know that his cause hurts trade and cross-border relations. It is not an easy support to win and right now, the majority of his income is from his wealthier citizens.”

Who knew that Ulfric’s stranglehold on the city was this fragile?

Well… supposedly he could always take his soldiers and force the land into submission, but he likely still didn’t have the army to rival the Empire.

It was somewhat uplifting to hear.

“My influence has limits. But so does his. Fear not. I am certain she will return with an unpleasant memory at the worst. If you wish to make sure, meet me at the Palace gates at dawn.”

It _was_ only a few hours away. And as much as he wanted to sneak into the Palace to break her out, it might have just made the situation worse in the long run. Besides… it was one thing to infiltrate a guarded place with a proper plan, but storming the Palace with no idea where she even was being held, while the whole city was on high alert, would definitely end very badly for him.

He didn’t have much choice in the matter.

He just hoped he wouldn’t regret trusting this man.


	87. The Once Banished

“In here, elf.”

The guard led her through several corridors down into the lower levels of the Palace.

They passed through the prison and she noticed two Dunmer locked up in the cells there. They were either asleep or passed out though and she couldn’t see who they were or if they were hurt.

The guard ushered her into the door at the end of the hall filled with cells, leading her into a small room with only two baskets in it – one of them filled with rags.

He started to undo her cuffs after a bit and clapped them back onto his belt. He then pulled out two rags from the basket and shoved them roughly in her hands.

“Take everything off, we can’t allow any hidden weapons. You’ll be searched. Then put this on and come out,” he stated matter-of-factly, turning to leave her in the small room.

“You can’t be serious…” she cringed at him when she looked at the filthy rags in her hand.

“You seem to be forgetting that you’ve been _arrested_ , knife-ear! Don’t think that fucker Free-Winter’s speech gets you any special treatment in _here_!” he spat at her before turning on his heel abruptly and slamming the door behind him.

Well… she _was_ arrested….

What exactly was she expecting?

She’s never been in prison before. Her only visits there consisted of picking up Bishop after his… outbursts.

She _did_ break the law, but it was an unfair biased and racist law which she was not ashamed of breaking in any way. Not that it mattered here…

With a deep sigh she started to take off her clothes, but paused suddenly as the two necklaces dangled from her neck when she removed her shirt.

Should she take them off? What would they do with her things? She really hoped they would give them back in the morning when she was released.

But she couldn’t be sure.

Then again… if she hid them in the rags, they might destroy them out of spite like Mercer did.

She couldn’t risk that! She promised Bishop she would keep Jules’s ring safe.

She took off the necklaces reluctantly in the end. She felt uncomfortable without them.

If they didn’t return her things, she was determined to plot with Bishop how he could sneak in to steal her stuff back.

She was not gonna let Ulfric or his men get their hands on something so precious to her.

Her blood was still boiling from what happened, but more and more, her situation was starting to get abundantly clear to her and the fear and anxiety slowly crept in.

She couldn’t let it! She couldn’t show _any_ weakness in front of Ulfric.

It would be fine… that man angered her to no end, she was sure she would get furious with him soon enough and her fire and eloquence would be back. At times, this uncontrollable attitude was dangerous and unwanted, but right now, she was glad for it.

It made her appear stronger than she felt herself to be.

She pulled up the filthy pants on her, draping the similarly ragged shirt over her head a second later.

What the…

It was torn on the back, exposing a rather large part of her bare skin there.

She fished around the basket for a new one but it had the very same problem. Another one too.

What was the purpose of that?

She let out another sigh, then checked on her clothes and necklaces in the previously empty basket before she left through the door. She almost stumbled into the guard waiting for her there.

“Finally! Through here,” he grumbled, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her towards another room in the corridor roughly.

They entered the room.

There was a… strange chair in the middle – it had a back so high it must have reached up to one’s head, but it consisted only of the outlying arch, leaving the entire back of a person sitting on it exposed.

It gave her a really uncomfortable feeling.

There were old dried bloodstains on the floor below the chair, a brazier right next to it with a poker jabbed into the burning coals. The only other thing in the room was a large chest by the back wall, closed and… it looked like it was stained with blood too.

Was that… an actual torture room?

The back of her head started to burn wildly, her hands shaking.

She clenched them into fists, gritting her teeth firmly.

She could _not_ let this overwhelm her now!

“Sit!” the man ordered, folding his hands across his chest expectantly.

“Why? I can stand…” she hissed through the gritted teeth, but she already knew it was pointless.

She should stay calm. This was only for show. Ulfric’s fragile ego needed to scare her into submission before he dared talking to her.

It was nothing but posturing.

“Do I have to tell you again?! You are a prisoner! You will do as you’re told. And I assure you, if you make trouble, you are _never_ setting foot out of this place! Not like we need you for anything…” he gave her a malicious sneer and shoved her roughly into the direction of the chair.

He was convinced that Ulfric was the real Dragonborn.

But it didn’t matter. Ulfric knew he was nothing but a pretender. _He_ couldn’t afford to kill or lock her up in there – the dragons would get out of control.

And yet… she couldn’t help but fear the consequences of disobeying. It was obvious that Ulfric and his men could make even these few hours highly unpleasant for her.

She should probably not give the overzealous creeps any more reasons than she had to, no matter how much she wished to defy them.

She slowly walked towards the chair, sitting herself in it with her head resting on the wooden arch, her back uncomfortably exposed.

The guard approached her and yanked her hands to lay on the armrests. Using the iron cuffs, he fastened her to them as the chain between metal around her wrists dangled above her lap.

She threw him a hateful glare, but what was the point? She was already chained up.

The man gave her a vicious smirk and turned on his heel, leaving her alone in the chamber.

She wondered if her ethereal form could get her out of that chair. It probably could… after all, it even made a long fall harmless. She never would have thought that, but when she was falling back at Kynesgrove, her instincts took over.

Would they ever steer her wrong? What if she began to rely on them too much? Then one day… her instincts about the Shouts would be wrong and…

Why was she making herself even more anxious with these thoughts?!

She should get mad again.

Once she sees Ulfric’s smug face, it will surely take care of itself.

…

How long has it been?

She must have sat there for at least an hour!

Was Ulfric busy or was he doing this on purpose to rattle her, to make the trepidation worse?

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

Her thoughts were still going back and forth… she wanted to resist, to force her way out of this situation, but she feared it would make everything worse.

Ulfric had half the province under his thumb – if he declared her an enemy, she couldn’t go anywhere near his soldiers.

She knew now all too well that they wouldn’t stay their hand – they already thought she was a pretender.

Ironically enough, Ulfric was the only one who could help her against his followers.

She should just endure whatever he had in store for her with her head held high, show no weakness to that bully.

Suddenly the door swung open and the man himself entered, followed by a large person with a hood and metal mask on his face.

He almost looked like one of those draugr mage things, if it weren’t for his bare-chested muscular body. Did he get the mask from one of those creatures? And why? Who was that?

Whatever the case, all that definitely did it.

She felt her teeth clench again, her anxiety and fear replaced by unbridled hatred.

“Apologies for the wait. I hope you enjoyed the accommodations in the meantime,” Ulfric smirked, breaking his stony expression for a brief second as the strange masked man positioned himself behind her.

That was nerve-wrecking, she couldn’t see him at all! She only felt his oddly repulsive presence at her back.

“Torture chamber? Really? What era is this?” she spat at Ulfric spitefully, earning a mean chuckle from him in turn.

“Naïve as ever, aren’t you? It must have been all sunshine and rainbows for you down south,” he mocked her with a nasty sneer, making her roll her eyes at him exasperatedly.

To be fair… she never really saw any dungeons belonging to a powerful ruler before, but she sorely hoped that not all of them were fashioned with such a room.

Then again, that might have really been naïve…

“Speaking of naivety… I don’t know what you’re expecting from keeping me here, but I have a message for you. From lord Free-Winter,” Divines, how she hoped that the mention of Brunwulf’s name would break that smirk of his. She prayed that the nobleman wasn’t just exaggerating his station.

Ulfric’s expression turned to stony and unreadable again after the name earned her a derisive scoff.

“I heard. Cleverly played. But don’t presume it will help you much. The nobles will soon be in the palm of my hand and in the meantime… well… it’s not like I can’t get creative…”

Gods… what did _that_ mean?!

_Stop panicking!_

“What do you want from me?!” she barked at him impatiently. How she wished it would be dawn already. She really hoped that Brunwulf could get her out like he insinuated.

“Not much. You are here because you broke the law, just like the rest of the criminals in my cells. But it _did_ occur to me that this may be the perfect opportunity to make certain… issues clear between us,” Ulfric shrugged disinterestedly, the unreadable expression still etched on his face.

That sounded… bad…

“Whatever leverage you think you gain by getting Free-Winter and his cohorts on your side, it is temporary and inconsequential…” he folded his arms across his chest haughtily, pacing back and forth across the room in an irritating manner. He did not even spare her a glance, as if he was walking by a mere ant under his feet.

She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that he suspected her from forming any sort of alliance with the nobles of Windhelm – he either feared her more than it appeared, or he thought her more of a threat and he would try harder to get rid of her…

“You see… my men… they don’t see things the way the nobles do. They have… different ideas of your importance. And you seem to be forgetting just how loyal they are. What do you think will happen if I inform them that you are actively marring our work, fighting against our cause? Do you truly think that anyone would blame me, if you get yourself killed outside my city in your own incompetence? Do you truly think, that you can openly defy me and get away with it only because some consider you necessary?”

Her blood seemed to freeze over at his words. Would he really have the entire rebellion kill her on sight? Most of them already thought that _he_ was the Dragonborn, there was no doubt in her mind that just a mild insinuation from that man would turn them against her instantly.

“You should be grateful. As of now, they are ordered not to harm you. But should that change…”

He looked back towards the figure behind her suddenly, nodding somberly.

What did _that_ mean?

A loud sound drowned her ears, a stinging sharp pain slashing across her bare back suddenly. She felt the scrape of leather against her skin, her bones vibrating. There was a palpable warm trickle of blood running down from where she felt the unbearable sting. Her eyes went wide, filling with tears of pain involuntarily.

She forced herself to keep her mouth shut instinctively, but a shocked yelp formed at the back of her throat nonetheless, audible in the silent room.

It made Ulfric grin at her maliciously.

She took a deep breath behind her gritted teeth.

She would _not_ give him the satisfaction of breaking down, but the fear was overtaking her quickly.

In all his bluster, she still did not suspect him of actually hurting her, even only to make a point.

She really _was_ naïve.

“You have broken my laws and according to my men, you have meddled in affairs of my city. Did you really think I would ignore this?” he scoffed at her and returned to his pacing, his eyes averted disinterestedly again.

“Now… here’s what will happen. I will release you in the morning… if only to appease those simpering fools that are too afraid to take a stand. But you _will_ respect my laws. Unless you want to be declared my enemy publically. I’m uncertain if you concerned yourself with the politics of the war at all, but be assured, half of the province is already in my hands and soon, the rest will follow. If you didn’t notice, my soldiers are stationed at Riften, Dawnstar and Winterhold and it is only a matter of time before we take the rest. You better cooperate, unless you want your life here to get… _very_ unpleasant…”

The whip cracked again, another slash of sharp pain shooting through her core. This time she expected it and managed to keep completely quiet, giving him a defiant stare.

She needed to be strong, show him that she won’t be intimidated.

But she didn’t feel like that at all.

It was so painful, she just wanted to curl into a ball and cry.

It felt so… humiliating. Being at his mercy, unable to do anything about it.

She wanted to Shout at him, to show him that she was stronger than him.

But every scenario she ran in her head ended up with her dead.

He was right.

He _did_ hold all the cards.

“What are you gonna do with the dragons then? What are you going to do when your men find out you are a fraud?!” she hissed at him in fury, bracing herself for another crack of the whip.

None came this time.

“Perhaps I should keep you here then… my own personal soul devourer. Who could oppose me then? I assure you, I can think of incentives for your cooperation. Perhaps involving your man or that mangy mongrel you traipse around my city with… Weaklings like you have soft spots for others, it is easily manipulated,” he smirked maliciously again as his eyes turned to her, narrowed in hatred and disdain.

“But why turn to such measures? Consider this your last warning, _elf._ Take your punishment, respect my laws and do not meddle in my affairs, or you will be wishing I have had you killed quickly when I first saw you enter my land.”

The stony expression was back on his face. She was sure it would haunt her dreams. He didn’t give her a chance to retort. He turned on his heel abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind him roughly.

She felt ready to break down, but the unsettling chuckle coming from behind her broke her from her despair.

She almost forgot about that man.

“Ten lashes for breaking the High King’s order, elf,” the tone of his voice was so pleased. He was clearly enjoying his job in a very twisted way.

If she gave in and cried out, he would surely tell Ulfric.

She couldn’t.

She had to endure.

But the desperation was quickly creeping in.

In between the horrible pain in her back, her thoughts swirled back to Susanna.

How on Nirn could she ever make things right now?

She needed to make sure that what happened to her would not happen to anyone in Windhelm ever again.

But how?

_CRACK!_

She swallowed the pained scream in her throat, shutting her eyes tightly and fisting her hands. She could feel the leather scraping over her already damaged skin – she could have sworn it forced chunks of her flesh off of her.

She would _not_ break down!

_CRACK!_

A subdued pained shriek formed in her throat before a disgusting chuckle from the man behind her filled her ears. Only eight more to go…

_CRACK!_

…

Bishop paced back and forth in the large hall, pricking up his ears to hear the conversation.

Brunwulf Free-Winter was standing below Ulfric’s throne as the king lounged on it with a bored expression.

Did he make a mistake leaving her there? Who knew what Ulfric would have done to her?! It was so reckless.

But any way he spun it, it was the safest option.

Even if he was capable of breaking her out, what then? Every Stormcloak in the province would be at their throats! They wouldn’t be able to even enter the northern cities and they would have to be on guard constantly in the Holds that Ulfric had under his thumb.

One night in prison was worth avoiding _that_ , right?

“That is unacceptable! How do you expect…”

“Enough, Free-Winter! My decision is final! I have told you…”

He caught part of the conversation when they raised their voices at each other.

That did _not_ sound good.

_Fuck!_

Finally! He saw Aeyrin emerge from one of the doors with the old priest of Talos walking behind her.

She looked fine… although she had an odd expression on her face. It was clear she was trying to look defiant towards Ulfric, but her eyes looked strange, even from the distance between them. They looked empty.

It kind of terrified him.

Fuck, he should have come for her.

“Well now…” Ulfric got up from his throne when he saw her appear in the door. Bishop came closer, stopping just before he reached her to see what that fucker wanted now.

“For breaking the law and hindering an ongoing investigation, you are hereby banished from Windhelm. You are prohibited to enter the city walls and the dock area unless I give my explicit consent. You are to leave immediately,” Ulfric gave a solemn nod at her and sat back in his throne. He threw a rather dismissive look towards Brunwulf a second later.

The nobleman shook his head defeatedly and turned on his heel, heading towards the exit. He gave Bishop a bit of an apologetic expression on the way but he didn’t say anything.

For that matter, neither did Aeyrin.

She didn’t protest, she didn’t yell at Ulfric. She gave him a contemptful look but kept her mouth shut, turning around to head towards Bishop.

All he managed was a concerned stare.

What the fuck just happened?

“Come on,” she almost whispered. She didn’t stop for a second and headed towards the door.

…

“Hey! Stop for a second!”

She was hurrying towards the city gates. She did not even take her pack from him.

“Didn’t you hear? I have to leave…” she answered almost disinterestedly, not turning towards Bishop even for a second.

He _did_ hear. How fucking ironically familiar. He wondered if that extended to him, however he did not technically break any of Ulfric’s orders.

If he did, what would he be called now? Was there another word for four times?

The Frice-Banished?

_Ugh… not the time…_

“Princess, fuck, what happened? What did that bastard do to you?” he caught up to her. He placed his hand on her back reassuringly but she flinched away from him in an instant.

What the fuck?!

“Later… Can we please leave?” her voice cracked a bit, making chill run down his spine.

She still didn’t look back and continued in her strides.

He gave out a loud whistle to call Karnwyr to them before he started following her from some distance.

He _knew_ he should have come for her…


	88. Of Loss and Painful Reminders

“For fuck’s sake, would you _please_ stop for a second?!”

She was already past the bridge and the farmsteads, following the road that eventually led to Riften.

For a while, it looked like she would ignore him, continuing on her way, likely as far away from Windhelm as possible.

She stopped after a while, her back still turned to him as he made his way around to face her, looking her over with a worried frown.

“What for? It’s not like we can just sneak back in! And soon another girl will end up like her and he’ll do nothing but use it to torment the elves again!” she still had that defiant stare in her eyes, but he could see past that. The only comfort she clung to after Susanna’s death was taken from her – she couldn’t make things right, she couldn’t find solace in her revenge against the killer.

He knew that feeling all too well.

“Sweetheart… there’s nothing you could have done… it won’t bring her back…” he sighed. He wasn’t sure how to comfort her. He knew there was no comfort for him back then.

She looked ready to retort something – to argue that she shouldn’t give up in the face of adversity, that she couldn’t let Ulfric win, but suddenly, something cracked.

No matter how much she wanted to resist, she couldn’t. Everything that Ulfric said was true. She had no power, she was lucky to be free and alive. She made enemies of powerful people, thinking herself invincible and then she hoped to play a vigilante to ease her grief.

She was so stupid, so naïve.

So powerless.

She felt as if the whip slashed her across the back once again, punctuating the point.

She practically fell into his arms, burying her face in his chest. Her quiet sobs echoed across the empty road.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly in a consoling hug, but the loud cry of pain she let out into his tunic made him recoil sharply.

He stepped away from her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders as he looked her up and down again with concern.

She gave him a miserable look, wiping her tear-stained eyes hurriedly, before whispering with a quaver in her voice: “Can we please go make camp somewhere?”

He only nodded at her, not really sure what to say.

It was clear now that her back was in pain and he had an unpleasant feeling he knew why.

He got an urge to apologize for not rescuing her, but… it wasn’t as if it would help anything. The damage was done.

…

She let out a soft pained cry every now and then while he worked on applying the herbal poultice to the slashes across her back.

He was trying to be as gentle as possible but it looked pretty bad.

She said that the old Talos priest healed her enough to stop the bleeding and remove the worst of the damage, but Ulfric forbade him from doing more.

She questioned the man on his duty to help, on adhering to Stendarr’s command, but he scoffed at her, calling her ignorant yet again. He said that he was a priest of Talos and since the ‘elves’ decided to disjoint the faith, he had no obligation to adhere to any other commands than his.

The callousness of the priests in Skyrim was still staggering.

Maybe it was the same in Cyrodiil – she only ever spoke to a few of them from the other chapels, and they were those who were designated to deal with the theological questions of the public – they would likely portray their congregations in the best light possible.

Was she really so oblivious in Cyrodiil to all these things?

Skyrim was a harsh wake-up call and Casavir’s words on people’s callousness during war echoed in her mind again.

“You know I don’t give a shit about the war, but I’m really hoping some Thalmor comes and fries Ulfric’s fucking ass to a pulp, just to spite him,” Bishop growled when she jerked in pain again. She refused to take a potion to numb the pain, not to deplete their supplies – they were better suited for emergencies and not for when she was resting.

Besides, the closest place to get more supplies was hopelessly barred to them…

“We should have gone to Sondas right away…” he sighed after she let out another hiss through her gritted teeth.

“I… I don’t know…” she sighed a bit… not certain what his reaction would be. “I don’t know if I want them gone…”

At first she was determined to forget this has ever happened, but then she remembered the scars on her leg. She wondered if she should let these go old and pale too – a bitter reminder of the harsh north. It might have snapped her from her naivety the next time…

“You sure? Why?” he creased his brows at her. She studied his face, turning her head back to look at him while he knelt above her lying form.

She knew it… he found them repulsive.

“Would it… bother you?” she cringed a bit asking that, but she needed to know.

“Not this again, sweetness, of course not! Although… any reminder of that horker-fucker is kinda bothersome… I just don’t really see a reason. Especially since you’d be in pain for a lot longer than necessary. It’s not like we can’t afford the healing. And we’ll be paying Sondas in meat again anyways,” he smirked at her, gently applying the poultice to the last bits of the slashes.

“I just… I don’t know… the ones… the ones I already have… I always felt like they reminded me of… what people were capable of. It reminded me that I should expect them to do their worst to achieve their goals. I think… it just feels like… I could use more of these reminders…”

There was a bit of silence before she continued, her eyes glittering with tears again.

“I mean… Ulfric was right about _everything_. I was so naïve to think that… that I could change things… that I could help anyone… It was so pointless… it brought only pain…”

Another bout of silence ensued, only broken by the chirping of crickets around them by the sulfuric pool.

“Alright…” Bishop sighed, his brows furrowed deeply, “… _now_ it bothers me.”

“W-what?” her eyes went wide at him.

“Are you seriously gonna let that fucker affect you like this?!” he raised his voice angrily, his gaze piercing hers.

“What?! _You’re_ the one who always argues about these things with me!”

“Yeah! And I’ll keep doing that because I want to save your neck! Not ‘cause I want you to change!” he yelled at her, making her stare at him dumbfounded.

“I… do you have any idea how much I love that fucking stubborn attitude of yours?! Like fuck I’m gonna let that asshole beat that out of you!”

She felt tears stinging her eyes again, but this time there was no sorrow and defeat in them. She shot up from her position, ignoring the pain and discomfort in her back and she wrapped herself around him in a tight hug, burying her head into the side of his neck.

He returned her embrace carefully, his hands woven into her hair on her head and neck, cautious not to touch her injuries as he pressed her face firmly into his skin.

She whispered a quiet word of thanks to him and grazed her lips against the stubbly jaw, relishing the feeling again.

“Still… there’s nothing I can do now…” she sighed a bit, disentangling herself from him carefully and lying back on her stomach. Her bare breasts were pressed below her into the bedroll a bit uncomfortably, but it was better than straining her back.

“Yeah… doesn’t mean you should give up all hope. Never thought I’d fucking say this…” Bishop scoffed a bit. He cleared his throat and applied a mockingly haughty tone to his voice, likely to still preserve some semblance of his aloofness: “The path will reveal itself!”

She couldn’t help but burst out laughing at him. He wasn’t the only one. She never imagined hearing the mantra from _him_ either. But it did ease the somber mood pleasantly.

…

“You know… I never really knew anyone I was… at least a _little_ close with who died…” she pondered.

The sun was starting to set but they didn’t leave the tundra. They both lay on the bedroll, both half-undressed. Aeyrin was really cold, but she couldn’t stand anything touching her back right then and the wounds needed to breathe anyways. She was determined to suffer through it. Her legs at least were warmed by the thick fur blanket while Bishop’s warm hand slowly stroked over any parts of her back that didn’t look too painful and sore.

“Really?” he raised his brows at her.

“There were some old priests who died while I was in the temple, but I never knew them very well. I had friends leave after their vigils or on pilgrimages and I… I don’t really know if… if my father still lives. But… this is the first time it’s so… final,” she explained rather calmly. It felt like she was all cried out. It did strangely help before.

“I know we didn’t know her that long or that well but…still… And seeing her like… like that…” she shook her head, closing her eyes firmly as if to chase away the image.

“Yeah…” he nodded briefly.

There was another moment of silence, the chirping of the crickets only punctuating it further.

“A lot of people I knew died… but… none of them really meant shit before Jules. Fuck… no one alive ever meant anything before him…” Bishop scoffed.

“Why is that? Not even in your family?” she looked at him curiously. Whenever he mentioned Jules, there was always a strangely tempting opportunity to ask more about his past.

“Fuck no! Jules was the only one of them worth a damn. And after he… I don’t know… it’s just easier…” he shrugged noncommittally, playing with a strand of her hair.

“You mean… don’t get attached and no one gets hurt?” she asked.

That was an understatement… with Thorn’s threats, the implications of people getting ‘hurt’ were way more serious.

“Yeah…”

“I never understood that… Isn’t it more… painful to be alone?” she shook her head. She hated feeling lonely – if she didn’t have the knowledge of having a place to call home, friends to return to, she would have never really felt happy.

“I’m kinda surprised you’d think that. Doesn’t sound like you’ve met many people who inspired that when you were a kid…” he certainly knew that his own experiences with his family and the bandits didn’t exactly leave him eager for companionship. Not that he wasn’t glad that she wasn’t a jaded loner like him. She would have _never_ offered to help him back when they met.

“Maybe… but I saw the other kids running around the city. None of them would ever talk to a filthy street rat, but… they were all laughing and playing together… I was so jealous. And then Master Therien took me in and it felt like I’ve finally found something I’ve been missing…” she smiled wistfully, but a frown returned to her face in a second.

“It’s stupid but… I kinda… understood what Susanna was going through… She must have felt just like that. When we took her to cornerclub and things with the elves cleared up… I was thinking how Master Therien would be proud of me. How I did for her just what he did for me… how I… saved her,” she scoffed a bit in both embarrassment and guilt at that word. As if anyone could have claimed that she was saved…

“Just because things turned to shit, doesn’t mean you didn’t do any good before…” he nodded at her encouragingly while still stroking over her shoulder with gentle motions.

She gave him another grateful smile. He made her feel so much better through all of this.

“So… I have a question…” she gave him a wry look. “You say stuff about people being not worth the trouble and not getting attached, but… you’re not like that with me. Not really. And I don’t mean just me… others too, when we’re together…”

He was staring at her for a while, as if pondering the reason himself.

“You… are bad fucking influence, princess.”

She chuckled at him, but waited for him to elaborate, eliciting a somewhat exasperated sigh from him.

“It’s not as if I _planned_ to get attached… you _know_ why I stayed with you in the first place,”

“You wanted to sleep with me?” she smirked at him with an involuntary blush spreading on her face.

“Yeah. _And_ the money from the loot was good,” he snickered back at her before his expression turned a bit more serious. “I honestly have no idea what the fuck happened. And I don’t know why you seem to run into people that don’t actually actively annoy me once in a while. There’s something weird about you, ladyship.”

She giggled at that. She disentangled one of her arms from under her head and brushed it softly over the hard muscles of his chest. “Maybe you’re just… happier… when you’re not alone all the time…”

“Pfft… don’t try to analyze me, sweetheart. I _did_ have Karnwyr. And what does it matter anyways? Just be grateful that I don’t decide to scare off everyone who tries to get chummy with you.”

They both laughed for a while. It wasn’t really hard to imagine him doing that.

“I also noticed that most of those you actually find… not ‘actively annoying’ are women,” she smirked at him, brushing the tips of her fingers through the hair between his pecs.

“Are you jealous again, ladyship? I love it when you get jealous,” he purred in a low voice, leaning in to kiss her briefly, careful not to get them too worked up – she wasn’t really able to move much with her wounds still reacting under the poultice.

“No! Just curious…” she smiled in response. She really wasn’t jealous of the women he befriended – she knew by now how it looked when he wanted someone and she didn’t see that look on his face once with Aela or Lydia or even Susanna, despite their previous encounter.

“Maybe because most of the women don’t drool over just the sight of you! That tends to piss me off. But it’s not like there’s no one… I kinda like Ambarys and most of the other elves we drink with. And I guess Brynjolf would be alright if he got his head out of that fucker Frey’s ass… And Athis isn’t as big of a dickhead as the other Companions…” he pondered for a while.

“See?! You’re so friendly! You like so many people already!” she laughed at him, poking his chest teasingly.

He groaned in annoyance and shook his head at her.

“How did _you_ not annoy me back then? I think I was too busy watching that ass of yours to notice,” he smirked, giving her a sharp smack on her behind, making her body jerk in surprise. A yelp of pain escaped her lips instantly.

“Shit! Sorry, sweetness!” he started stroking over her uninjured areas quickly with a wry smile.

“I… think I’d like to go to Sondas tomorrow…” she cringed a bit, still a little uncertain of the decision. But the pain was really bad, especially with the reacting poultice – it would help in the long run, but it burned and irritated the wounds before it did. It was never really necessary when magical healing was available.

He did reassure her more than he probably realized with his words. Just the fact that despite his constant grumbling, complaints and argument, he still liked her for exactly who she was. It meant much more than if he tried to blindly comply to her side of things.

Especially since she felt the same way about him – she would have had him no other way.

…

His lips and tongue traveled across her bare back, now completely healed of the nasty gashes from the whip.

She groaned, shivering, but she still felt a little sore and the skin was still a bit swollen and red and in need of fresh air. At the very least, she eventually managed to cover her back with a blanket through the night and didn’t get sick from the cold again, on top of her injuries. But the stiff rigorous position of the previous day and night only irritated her sore back further.

Besides, they were in a camp full of miners, only secluded by a leather tent – not like her sensibilities would allow her to let this go further, even with a gag or something – that did _not_ work as well as she previously thought.

“Bish…” her voice carried a little warning, but was still pleased and warm. The previous day was surprisingly cathartic. The bitter taste after the events in Windhelm was still there, but it was steadily being pushed back by the memories of Bishop’s comforting words.

The path _would_ reveal itself.

Maybe she’d get the chance to make things right, to give some justice to Susanna.

She even felt a bit better after composing another letter to Master Therien, telling him all about her new endeavor with Jora. The thought of taking away the really devoted priests and followers of Talos from under Ulfric’s heel was now even more tempting than before.

She _would_ undermine him, no matter how long she had to pretend to conform.

That man _would_ fall.

Bishop didn’t stop kissing at her back while she was organizing things in her pack, trying to ignore his ministrations.

That proved much harder when his hands snuck around her, grasping both her breasts and kneading them eagerly.

She gasped at the sensation, slapping his hands away in a second.

She turned to him, only to see an unapologetic grin spread across his face. She couldn’t help herself but giggle before giving him a deep kiss.

And he called _her_ a bad influence!

She tore herself away from him after a while and patted his cheek lightly.

“Tomorrow… when we’re alone…” she winked at him, tossing her pack aside and lying herself on the bedroll. She spread her arms invitingly to indicate her want for his embrace.

He studied her bare breasts for a while with a pleased smirk, now that she was turned to him, before he entangled himself with her, resting his head against hers contentedly as they curled together.

Only a day ago, she couldn’t have even imagined herself smiling ever again.

What would she have ever done in this place without him?


	89. From Beneath You

_ Author’s Note: _

_Whoever gets the reference in the chapter title and completes the phrase before the next one’s out gets a virtual cookie ;) And yes, this is a very obvious ploy fishing for comments :D But I still wanna know if anyone gets the reference. O:)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

They looked over the enormous structure from their vantage point.

There was a large platform with several sets of stairs leading towards an imposing building with heavy metal double doors

It was really impressive. And kind of intimidating as the entrance into the main complex towered above the valley ominously

If only it were empty…

The bandits scurried around lazily, drinking and occasionally sparring with each other, clearly bored with their fancy housing.

“What are they doing here? I thought these places were too dangerous…” Aeyrin furrowed her brows at them, whispering to Bishop quietly.

“They sometimes set up in the first few chambers – those are usually already cleared out. They definitely wouldn’t get as deep as the map goes,” he nodded reassuringly. This still looked like a worthwhile endeavor, and they stocked up on a rather surprising amount of healing supplies from Sondas.

They _did_ plan on being equipped a bit better after leaving Windhelm, but that was clearly not to be.

Well… enchantments _were_ expensive anyways and the best ones were done by the College mages – they might as well stock up on loot here and then spend the money in Winterhold.

“At least I know what to expect from bandits…” she looked over the scurrying people below the steep hill they observed them from. “Well… most of them, I guess…” she gave him a wry smile, earning a disgruntled eye roll in turn.

He did _not_ like being called a bandit by her. It reminded him of all the people that hated him who spewed that word like a badge of shame – like Casavir or Ysolda.

“I just meant… as opposed to the machines inside…” she shrugged.

“Whatever. Let’s go for it. I’ll stay here,” he nodded resolutely, eager to get rid of those scumbags that brought back this topic.

“Alright. Just… wait for us! Don’t try to shoot them all before we get there – they have archers too,” she gave him a warning look. She knew all too well that he just might try to do that, relying all too much on his selection of vantage point.

“Fine…” he smirked. She knew his tactics a little too well.

…

Karnwyr ripped into the woman’s leg just as she was about to descend her sword on Aeyrin.

Whew… that was good timing.

The other bandit beside her fell heavily to the ground, an arrow pierced right through his eye. Bishop was so far away, how could he see his target so perfectly?

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

She smashed her mace into another woman’s midsection before she even managed to heave with her warhammer. Amateur – you don’t carry such heavy weapons with no armor on, the swings leave you too exposed. She was sent almost flying to the ground, clutching her stomach.

Aeyrin approached her, but the bandit was slumped down limply already – no need to make a mess by finishing her off.

That looked like all of them. Bishop would check from his vantage point, but she could relax at least a bit.

The ruins were even more impressive from up close – the gold-bronze metal shining beckoningly in the noonday sun. The ancient stone still towered above her, sturdy as ever, the geometrical carvings were barely even weathered. She looked over the reliefs curiously, brushing her armored palm over them.

It was so exciting.

She was a bit wary of the automatons inside – Bishop implied that they were fierce enemies, attacking anyone that stepped foot in the ancient Dwemer cities. But still, she’s always been intrigued by the Dwarves. Visiting one of the ruins was originally part of her plan for her pilgrimage – to see the works left after the Dwemer’s toil in the eras past. Zenithar must have been impressed. And she couldn’t even begin to imagine all the knowledge hidden in those harsh stone halls.

She heard that Markarth was built entirely on the remains of one of the ancient cities. It must have been quite the sight. She couldn’t wait to go there. When she mentioned it to Bishop, he grumbled something about barbarians in the mountains – it rang a very vague bell from her history studies, but she didn’t really know anything about the subject.

She’s never been interested in Skyrim’s history before she took up an interest of the worship of Talos.

“It’s not gonna do anything exciting, ladyship. It’s a rock,” Bishop smirked, approaching her as she still studied the stone walls by the entrance to the complex.

“It’s definitely prettier than any rock I’ve seen before…” she giggled, gesturing towards the carvings around the metal doors.

“I don’t know… I prefer diamonds. They fetch more drakes. Let’s go see if we can find some,” he winked at her conspiratorially and pushed at the heavy metal doors.

…

The few first rooms were, true to Bishop’s theory, still crawling with bandits. They were already cleaned out of all the remnants of Dwemer machines and treasures.

It was fairly disappointing, but it was probably for the best. The less vicious automatons they had to dispose of, the better.

After a few chambers, however, that all changed – behind a secure gate of gold-bronze metal, the true depths of the ruins awaited.

“Don’t!” Bishop stopped her abruptly when she spotted the first machine – a little one on several mechanical legs, crawling around as the metal clicked periodically against the stone floor.

She was kind of eager to see just how dangerous it really was.

When she first left the temple, she was a little rattled by the sudden thrills of combat – she never thought herself a violent person, but being in the thick of the battle filled her with a lot of adrenaline.

She went back to the temple immediately, concerned about what this excitement over violence said about her.

Master Therien reassured her, as he always did. It was a natural instinct, and as long as she made sure not to succumb to the impulses to harm innocents, he was not concerned.

His words always made her feel better.

She sorely missed the guidance when she got to Skyrim, but she noticed that her need for it waned gradually. Maybe because talking things over with Bishop had the same effect. She was pretty sure that his advice and reassurances were completely different from those her old mentor would have given her, but the result was the same. His indifferent attitude about things helped her let the little things go more. She needed that. Without it, she would have crumbled a long time ago.

Skyrim was way more stressful than her travels over Cyrodiil.

She had no doubt that being the Dragonborn was a large part of that – if it weren’t for that, she wouldn’t even have to deal with a lot of other things causing her endless stress. Such as people like Ulfric.

“Why not? Is it harmless?” she peered at the little spider-like machine pitter-pattering some distance away from them.

“Hah! No. When you kill it, it explodes into a nasty shock. Best to keep your distance, especially since you can’t really heal lightning burns. We better play it safe. Leave those little fuckers to me,” without letting her react, he drew his bow, aiming at the odd little red crystal at the top of the little automaton.

The crystal shattered at the contact with the arrow instantly, leaving the machine to crumble to the floor and erupt into a large discharge of purple lightning.

That _did_ look nasty.

A second later loud sounds of clanking metal and the hiss of steam echoed through the room, getting closer towards the hallway in which they were standing.

“Well, your turn,” he grinned at her and drew his bow again, waiting for her to charge at the machines emerging from behind the corner towards them.

They were much larger – looking a little more humanoid, but moving around on big metal spheres instead of legs. They had swords in place of their arms. It was somewhat menacing. But the built-in weapons likely only meant that it would be just like any other fight.

She ran towards the two constructs, shield raised to counter the inevitable swings of their piercing arms. She bashed the minute one of their sword-arms made contact, staggering the machine by countering its blow. Her shield connected to its metallic face, forcing its own arm against it.

The other one got pierced by several arrows in the meantime but it refused to be fazed by them. Its fast movements made it almost impossible to lodge the projectiles into its construction the right way to prevent its motion. Some of them clanked away immediately, others lodged into its construction but with no visible damage whatsoever.

She ducked quickly when she heard the other metallic creature creak behind her menacingly. The blade swished through the air above her as Bishop attempted once more to hit the automaton where it… well probably not _hurt_ , but where it could at least have some effect.

It didn’t. All he did was diverge its attention a little, but the thing was already readying to swing again.

Aeyrin turned to bash her mace right into her assailant’s head. The heavy metal of her weapon connected with it and the machine’s sword-arms finally stopped flailing while the head slumped into its torso.

There was another lightening shock, but luckily, it wasn’t very big. She felt a slight tingle in her arm as the energy coursed through the connecting metals, but the burst was too mild to do any damage to her.

Suddenly there was a quick pressure and a poke into her back under her plate and chain. The other sphere stabbed into her with an impressive force.

It didn’t go through her armors, but it definitely made a dent in the plating.

Damn, that plate was thick. She suddenly felt very vulnerable with her back to it – the creatures were much stronger than she first thought. Apparently they were not using their full force until now.

Bishop froze for a bit when he saw that thing impale her, but it became clear in a second that the sword didn’t go through.

Fuck, maybe they really should have prepared more…

He’s only ever been in one of the ancient Dwemer cities twice in his life.

The first one was an… expedition of sorts… back when he was working for Thorn. He got the brilliant idea that they could clear out a Dwemer ruin and take whatever weapons, armor and metal they were able to equip his best warriors, getting the upper hand on the other clans.

He sent about ten of them into the ruins of Mzulft – near the road from Riften to Windhelm. Bishop would have been convinced that Thorn sent them there to get them killed, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t just kill any of his men whenever he pleased anyways.

Half of the men died in the process and in the end, they were stopped from progressing deeper by a set of doors none of them could get past.

Luckily.

He was pretty sure all of them would have died there if they continued.

He was much less experienced back then – especially with ruins and unorthodox enemies, but he still wasn’t bad. But that ruin was an insane deathtrap. Thorn even refused to try to have his men occupy it as a base by the road when they told him what happened there – no matter how ruthless he was, letting loyal men die there in the remaining traps more automatons was pointless. And who knew what was hiding behind that impenetrable door.

They did get his precious metal though…

The second time was when he was in Morrowind. He was pretty sure that not all of those ruins were that deadly and when he passed an ancient city on one day, he got curious.

He was right. Not all of them were that bad.

But he _did_ learn the ineffectiveness of his hunting abilities against the constructs. It wasn’t that obvious in the large group before, but he eventually had to retreat with his tail between his legs, not even getting that deep into the ruin.

He was way more confident about braving the Dwemer deathtraps with Aeyrin along, but maybe they still overshot a bit.

Aeyrin turned around swiftly, crushing her mace into the second sphere’s torso, sending it crashing against the stone wall. She took the opportunity to bash it again and again until she felt that little shock course through her again. It was almost pleasant – a signal that the danger was over.

He sighed, fastening his bow on his back strap and grumbling in annoyance.

He likely needed to think of another tactic, he was no help to her this way.

Karnwyr didn’t even attempt to fight, fortunately, only looking at Bishop with lowered ears. He would break his teeth at best and get killed at worst.

They should have probably left him to roam outside…

“That was… wow… a little tougher than I thought…” Aeyrin sighed, her breath still heavy from the fight as she tried to tilt her head enough to look on her back to see the damage to the plating.

Bishop examined her for a while. The deep dent was obviously poking into her chain and the skin underneath.

“Yeah… those fuckers are nasty. You alright?”

She nodded and looked over the stone structure around them, paved with the gold-bronze metal and intricate carvings. It was obvious that she would need more to survive those constructs. Bishop could always take care of the spidery things but it seemed his arrows were more or less useless against anything else. He had a sword but… she kind of preferred her space on the front lines. Karnwyr was small and quick, he could always avoid her swings, but she wasn’t so sure about Bishop.

“So… just how… stable do you think these ruins are?” She looked over the ceilings. There were a lot of cracks in the stones and this place was ancient. Getting buried under piles of stone was not the way she wanted to go out.

“Hmm… those construct things are pretty loud and I doubt the Dwarves would build something that couldn’t withstand their weird… smithing shit… I think it’s safe to Shout… but…” Bishop looked over the crumbled spheres on the floor, creasing his brows.

“There are these holes in the wall and that’s where these shits come out of… there, see?” he ushered her into the larger chamber behind the long hallway, pointing out the metallic circles on the walls. There seemed to be two of them. “Thing is… I don’t really know if they get activated by noise or what. And I have no idea how many of them fit in those holes.”

“Well… there’s only two of those here… I say we test them and in case the holes can fit a lot of these, we can just… run?” she gave him a wry smile. At the very least, the chambers leading to the entrance were cleared. Hopefully there were none of these covered holes in them…

Bishop stepped back as she faced the center of the chamber, looking over the emptiest area not to damage any potential loot. They haven’t checked out the various shelves in the chambers yet and it was safer to make sure that nothing would attack them in the meantime.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The Shout rumbled through the vast halls, shaking the stone around them.

Some pebbles crumbled from the ceiling, but other than that, the place looked stable.

After a bit of waiting, nothing came out of those holes.

“I’d say that’s a good sign…” Bishop smirked. The machines would likely be easy targets for her Shouts, and she could practice on top of that. He _did_ feel a bit useless, but at the very least he could take care of those fucking spider-things. He experienced the shock from those first hand and they really did _not_ have any means of taking care of the wounds from those.

“Yeah… So… you watch out for the little things and I’ll concentrate on those… metal ball-men… Anything else you encountered in these ruins before?” she headed towards the shelves, looking over the odd metal cogs and gears all over them.

“No. But I never really got too deep in. There could be anything down there…”

“One way to find out I guess…”

…

“How deep could the cavern be? We’ve been here for so long already…”

Aeyrin sighed focusing again on the various cuts, scratches and bruises on his skin, running her hands over him, alit with magic.

They’ve been descending deeper and deeper into the ruins, constantly going more underground, judging by the number of stairs they already descended. It was staggering how anyone could make a structure this deep without the earth crumbling down upon it.

She was getting more and more uncomfortable with Shouting in that place with all the weight above them, but there were not many other choices whenever there was too many of those constructs surrounding them.

And that happened way too often.

They were somehow still largely unhurt, however, and they were determined to continue.

After they’ve been systematically going further in for hours and hours already, they decided to make camp for a brief rest. It wasn’t as if they were really capable of handling more fights.

Aeyrin’s been handling most of the machines while Bishop took care of any of the little spiderlings, or diverted the spheres’ attention whenever necessary, constantly shooting at them and retreating whenever possible. The tactics left them both completely exhausted.

They’ve explored the ruins until they reached a change of scenery – a cavernous entrance with no hints of Dwemer stone and metal lining.

Uncertain what to expect, they returned to one of the previous chambers which had a giant ballista hooked to a pressure plate. It was the last place their detailed map described – thank the Gods. That ballista looked so deadly. If they went in unaware of it, it would have surely killed them.

Bishop deftly made a provisory trap, extending a tripwire at the chamber exit with a somewhat heavy stone fastened to it. The string stretched over a pillar, leaving the stone to dangle just above the pressure plate. It made them cut off and hopefully safe from whatever awaited them in the cavern’s depths as they splayed one of their bedrolls in the chamber for a moment of respite.

Karnwyr was fidgety and nervous the entire time. He was unable to help out in battles and a little crazed from the adrenaline with no outlet. He made his way towards the set up tripwire, lying on the ground, his eyes still open vigilantly on anything that might emerge.

“I told you, sweetness, word is that some of these can take days to explore. Who knows what’s in that cave,” Bishop shrugged, watching her work on his wounds. None of them were life-threating in any way. Some cuts were deeper, but nothing he couldn’t handle. They did sting though, and his movement got a bit impaired that way. Her healing really came in handy. And maybe those pompous mages could teach her to heal even more serious wounds when they got to Winterhold.

“It’s probably just a passage… hopefully leading into the last chambers. There might even be a treasury,” she gave him a sly smile, patting him one of his pecks after she was finally done with the healing.

“I’m not sure we can actually drag even more shit out of here,” he laughed. If nothing else, the venture would end up being beyond profitable – the riches they found in metals and gems alone would last them for weeks and definitely pay for any enchantments they wanted.

She smiled at him and crawled over to the bedroll tiredly.

He joined her under the blankets readily, letting her curl against him. The eerie silence was only interrupted by an annoyingly loud periodical hiss of steam nearby.

“I never slept in a ruin before…” she pressed herself closer to hi and looked towards the empty stone ceiling above them. Not that she’s ever been to a dungeon large enough to require that.

“Yeah? Me neither, I guess… Well… technically I did… but not like this. There were sleeping areas and shit,” he shrugged slightly.

He must have been talking about his bandit days.

Strange. She felt like she almost forgot about all that lately, even though it wasn’t that long ago that he told her.

It just seemed so unlike him. Especially after everything she’s heard from Raven about Bishop’s attempt at rebellion. He didn’t seem like the type to play lapdog for some thugs, robbing people on command.

She _really_ didn’t like thinking about it.

She didn’t like imagining him like that, but what was worse, she knew she had no right to feel that way. Not when she was in a similar situation herself. She doubted that even any bandit chief could have been more twisted than Ri’zhassa.

“I hope I’ll be able to get at least _some_ sleep,” she sighed, changing the subject with the first thing that came to her mind.

“Please… you’d sleep anywhere and through anything, princess,” he chuckled and squeezed her around her shoulders.

“You know… that actually wasn’t the case before…” she hid her face a little in his torso, blushing, her fingers tapped on his chest lightly and played with his hairs there.

“Before what?” he raised an eyebrow at her blush but his lips couldn’t help but quirk up a bit. After how she was talking just a few nights ago, he got worried that with everything that has been happening lately, she’d get more jaded and numb to anything that used to make her nervous or fluster her. He would have hated that. As much as he wanted to keep her from getting her hopes crushed, he never wanted to see that sparkle in her eyes gone, that combination of excitement and trepidation snuffed out by those who were intent on trying to break her. He was somewhat to still see that familiar blush on her face, proving that she was still the same person he fell in love with.

“After I got here… I could barely sleep at all. I was so excited to explore new places, meet new people. Then all… _that_ happened. I couldn’t stop thinking and worrying about everything.”

“Aaww, and then you met me, right?” he laughed cheekily, earning a light slap over his chest.

“No, you ass! I don’t know… it just got better… gradually,” her blush deepened. She knew all too well that it was because she became comfortable around him, relying on him. Her burdens just didn’t feel so cumbersome when she curled up to him.

“In fact, that night when we stayed at the Bannered Mare for the first time, I don’t think I got a minute of sleep,” she said, hoping to erase his smug smirk.

“Yeah? Why’s that, sweetness?” he grinned at her, leaning his head against hers, her hair tickling his face.

“I don’t know! It was weird… you were so close and I was… uncomfortable…” she bit her lower lip lightly and hid her face in the crook of his shoulder again.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘tempted’,” he snickered, turning his head and gripping her around her shoulders tighter. The movement made her arch her neck slightly, giving him access to teasingly nip at the tip of her pointed ear.

She giggled a bit, her face still flushed: “No, I meant ‘uncomfortable’.”

“Come on, princess, admit it!” his laugh echoed in her ear, making it vibrate pleasantly in the proximity. A shiver ran down her spine as he nipped again, running his tongue over the edge of it a second later.

“We barely knew each other…” she huffed frustratedly as her fingers dug more tightly into his chest.

“That’s not an answer,” he chuckled again and continued his ministrations mercilessly. This was really not a good place to get worked up.

“F-fine… Maybe. Maybe a little…” she moved her head away reluctantly, eliciting a victorious smirk from him.

“Good. I was _really_ fucking tempted,” he leaned towards her again and captured her lips in an insistent kiss, his tongue probing her mouth eagerly.

“Mmm… well don’t… mmm… don’t tempt me _now_ … we need to… mmm… sleep…” she tried to speak, constantly interrupted by his hungry kisses.

He groaned in frustration and withdrew from her with palpable difficulty. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to spend the last remnants of their energy like this. It would only raise the risks of being attacked by whatever was awaiting Gods knew how much deeper below them. But it was still hard for him to stop himself whenever they were sleeping entangled together like this, no matter his fatigue.

“Yeah. But the second we get out of here…” he rumbled low into her ear, squeezing her to him again.

Hopefully that would be soon.

…

Something sharp poked her back.

She felt like she barely got any sleep – it must have only been an hour or two.

It happened again.

Was Bishop trying to wake her? It was weird. She was tired and disoriented but she felt like he was on the other side of her.

In fact, she was still curled up to him, the rise and fall of his chest steady, warming her hand which was gently lying upon it.

What kept poking her in her back?

Maybe a rock…

A warm and wet drop landed on her face

Ugh! What was that? Something was dripping on her.

Was it from the ceiling?

Sleeping in ancient ruins was really uncomfortable…

She forced her eyes open.


	90. They Devour

A mind-numbingly piercing shriek made him jerk awake.

There was a lot of movement around him before he could register what was happening, then a large _thud_.

His eyes snapped open and he jumped out of the bedroll sharply.

Aeyrin was standing above a dead creature, breathing heavily in shock, mace firmly gripped in her hand, stained with blood.

The Falmer on the ground had its face mangled by the blow. Bishop’s eyes instinctively turned towards their makeshift trap. It was intact. How the fuck was that possible?!

He rushed towards Aeyrin and looked her over with concern: “What the fuck? How the fuck did this get here?”

“I-I… I don’t know…” she stared at the corpse warily, still shaken from the unexpected awakening.

He noticed the blood on her face, but on closer inspection it wasn’t hers – it was likely a splatter from the blow. She seemed unharmed. She was shaking though and looked in shock.

She let her mace fall to the ground heavily when there was no hint of further intrusions. Her breathing calmed only very slowly.

He enveloped her in an embrace to help calm her rattled nerves, but he remembered after a while what actually awoke him.

“That shriek… that was you?” his voice suddenly carried a hint of amusement.

“Y-yeah… it was… it was standing right above me. I woke up to see that… that face…” she shivered again, pressing tighter into his embrace.

“Talk about a hardened adventurer…” he chuckled, but his arms were running over hers soothingly, his hand occasionally stroking over her hair in gentle motions.

“Very funny,” she punched into his chest lightly. “You know how much those… _things_ freak me out. I can’t believe it was right next to us… staring at…r-right… not _staring_ , I guess…”

She was getting more jittery again at the memory, instinctively wiping the spot where she felt that horrible dribble before. She could see the blood on her hand afterwards. Was it from the blow? Or from before? She wasn’t sure which alternative to be more disturbed by – the creature standing right above her, drooling or… dripping blood.

“How did it get here? The trap wasn’t sprung,” Bishop looked around the room in bafflement. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Karnwyr started to sniff around the ground curiously, looking for the source of the disturbance too. He was far enough from their bedroll that the Falmer wouldn’t have woken him up before Aeyrin did. That meant that it couldn’t have come from anywhere near the doorway where the wolf rested.

“Maybe you should put something on first…” she smiled weakly as Bishop started to scour the room with Karnwyr, unconcerned about the fact that he didn’t even have his tunic on.

Coming to terms with the reality that sleeping in the ruins was too dangerous, given the likeliness of countless Falmer deeper in, they got armed and armored again. They were both exhausted, but after what happened, the best thing to do was probably to press on and see what awaited them ahead.

They looked over the room again, unwilling to chance more of those things at their backs when they continued into the cavern.

Eventually they found it.

There was a light blood trail on the ground, leading from where their bedroll was towards one of the corners of the rooms.

They searched through the fallen Dwemer shelf and stone rubble to find a crevice in the walls. It looked like it eventually led into another cavernous entrance.

It was rather small, but Aeyrin could squeeze through – with some difficulty, given her heavy armor.

“Maybe we should just go on. Who knows what’s in there…” Bishop scowled when she peeked out from the crevice, signaling that she’ll investigate.

“No. I don’t want those things at our backs,” she shook her head and ignored his further protests, crawling deeper through the crevice. She could handle whatever awaited her there, now that she was ready. The Falmer were so silent – Bishop would usually wake at any disturbance. If even _he_ wouldn’t notice it right by them, she knew it was too dangerous to leave these silent lurkers alone, waiting for the opportunity to catch them off guard.

She continued along the cavernous walls, pricking her ears up for any noises echoing against them.

Finally she reached a tiny chamber and the source of the blood was immediately clear to her.

There was a body. A bandit’s one without a doubt.

It was… half-eaten.

The face, and stomach were a pulpy mess, one might even doubt that this has once been a person. The limbs were all gone from the body, the evidence of their presence only obvious from the gnawed bones scattered around the chamber.

The bile rose in her throat at the sight.

It never occurred to her that those things actually ate people.

How was this possible that these were once the noble Snow Elves? What horrible thing could have happened to make them into _this_?

There were no hints of other crevices however. The Falmer must have been hiding in there for quite a while.

She turned on her heel quickly, lest the sight made her too sick. She tried desperately to get the image out of her head.

“You alright?” Bishop asked the second she appeared back in the crevice and slowly started to make her way out.

He looked really nervous – it was heartwarming how worried he got about her.

“Y-yeah… just… a corpse…” she stammered, almost falling out of the crevice when she finally squeezed through.

“Another Falmer?”

“No…” she cringed. “I didn’t know they… ate people…”

“I… guess. It makes sense. There’s usually not much else but mushrooms where they live. Never actually seen any in the Dwemer ruins, but there’s rumors about them occupying their depths. Not a lot of people come back to confirm them though…” he pondered while helping her off the ground.

“So… there might be a whole… nest… I guess?” she gave him a wary look. Those things really creeped her out. Even more than the hagravens. Those mangled faces and eyes overgrown with skin. It was horrifying. It made her wonder if it was possible for any man or mer to turn into that. Bishop told her that hagravens used to be people too and that they got themselves turned into those things voluntarily.

She’s never encountered such distorted people before – she only ever fought beasts or undead. Maybe the occasional goblin. Then again, undead used to be people too. But their essence was long gone, moved on to Aetherius. Was the same true for the Falmer? Or was there something left of their former selves?

“Yeah. Then again, at least I can actually shoot those fuckers,” Bishop smirked at her confidently and motioned back towards the exit from the chamber.

…

The cavernous entrance was indeed only a passage – it was odd that the Dwemer wouldn’t reinforce it into one of their grand hallways, but it actually looked as if it was somehow uncovered by the Falmer, judging from the rubble by its exits.

They didn’t really consider that possibility before, but then again, they had no reason to suspect that those things dwelled beneath. The Dwarves must have used another way to reach the rest of the city – there were so many heavily sealed or rubble-buried doors around.

“I wonder if we’ll have to go all the way back once we reach the end…” she sighed, remembering just how long they’ve already been walking through the ruins. The hall behind the passage was blessedly empty – there were only a few remnants of what looked like a large forge room.

“Considering out luck until now, I’d say so,” he scoffed, keeping his bow at the ready. The fact that the Falmer didn’t wake him rattled him more than he’d like to admit. He was usually so alert about any dangers. But having her body curled up to him, her soft skin on his, made him oddly at ease even in this place. It was dulling his senses.

“I don’t know. I’d say we’ve been really lucky so far. Considering we’re both still alive…” she gave him a weak smile and continued towards the only accessible door in the room.

“STOP!”

She jerked away from the door, just as she was about to open it.

“Those would have been the stupidest last words ever…” he dragged her away from that spot rather forcibly. He pointed to the odd hole in the floor right in front of the door.

She had no idea what it was.

Bishop looked around until he finally grabbed a long metal rod from one of the crumbled shelves. He stood some distance from the door and started to use the rod to push it open.

The second the door clicked and started to move, something sprung out from the hole – two metal blades, unfolding and starting to spin wildly.

That would have sliced her legs right off!

She really needed to learn to be more attentive about traps. But they kept uncovering new and new environments with new mechanism – the ancient Nordic ruins, the Dwemer. Things have been simpler in Cyrodiil.

Well… except for the Ayleid ruins… their traps were nasty and unpredictable.

The blades did not stop spinning.

“I guess… we’re gonna have to jump over,” she cringed a bit. It was doable, but the knowledge of the fact that any misstep would result in a rather gruesome death made her really nervous.

“Looks like it. Be careful,” Bishop nodded. As if saying that helped anything…

He held the door open with the rod as she took a few steps back to make a running jump. He could not imagine even moving with all that plate on her, let alone jumping. But she never seemed to have a problem with being agile in those things. Maybe it just took some getting used to.

She sprinted towards the menacing blades and leapt across rather deftly.

She tumbled to the ground gracelessly at the other side, her armor clattering against the ground loudly, but she made it.

She collected herself and held the door open for Bishop. He tossed their packs over to her first and then the wolf followed without any trouble whatsoever. He even seemed to smile at her excitedly when he landed on his feet gracefully – it looked like he enjoyed the added danger.

Just as Bishop started to move back to gain momentum, Karnwyr started to grown quietly, turning towards the corner of the hall behind them.

Something was there.

Something that he could smell – unlike the machines.

“What are you staring at?!” Bishop called out when he noticed both their attentions diverted suddenly.

That was a mistake.

A sickening gurgle echoed through the hall when the creatures heard the voice – an unfamiliar sound for them as opposed to the clanking and hissing of Dwemer machinery.

They emerged from the hallway – four of them. It forced her to let go of the door immediately and ready her mace.

The door slammed shut, leaving him sealed in the chamber.

The blades stopped spinning, retracting back into the hole. Then there was only silence.

Fuck, those walls were thick if he couldn’t hear a thing that was happening.

He got the urge to rush to the door, and press his ear to it, but luckily, he instantly realized how stupid of an idea that was – anything could have crashed into the door during the battle, opening it and activating the blades again, killing him instantly.

They’d be fine. She could always Shout if they got into a bad situation.

Although was it a good idea to Shout? Who knew how many more were lurking nearby?

Fuck, he hated being left on the sidelines like this. First those damn spheres and now when he could finally shoot their enemies, he got stuck in this place.

The waiting was so long.

…

The door finally moved, but stopped instantly, leaving only a small crack opened.

What the fuck?

“B-B-Bish, I ne-need you t-t-to open it!” her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

He grabbed the rod instantly, pushing it against the door. The blades sprung up and started to spin in a matter of seconds.

She leaned against it once it was open while she ran her hands over her arms rapidly wherever the armor allowed as if to warm herself up.

“I g-g-got f-f-frozen. T-there was a m-m-mage one,” she tried to smile weakly, motioning with her head for him to finally jump.

He made the jump easily, eager to finally get to the other side.

He outstretched his arms towards her instantly to warm her up. He looked over the four Falmer corpses in the meantime – one of them had several visible deep vicious bite marks, the others were crumbled to the ground, the occasional body part misaligned or bashed in.

“W-w-wait… the door. It w-w-won’t open f-f-from here,” she shook her head at the offer of his embrace, still pressed against the door and shaking uncontrollably. He could still see the patches of frost on her underchain and neck.

He started to drag the corpses towards the corner where the door would close, piling them up so that they provided a barrier against it shutting. They likely had to use the same route back – getting sealed inside Dwemer ruins would not leave them many chances for survival.

She leaned away from the door but still supported it while it closed so that the impact wouldn’t just crush through the corpses.

It seemed to hold up, leaving them enough room to open the door on the way back.

No wonder only one Falmer made it back to the previous chambers with this obstruction giving those creatures trouble.

She wondered just how intelligent they still were. They had arms and armor and obviously some of them even knew magic.

They were kind of like the goblins when she thought about it. Only the goblins weren’t the mangled remains of some long forgotten race.

Or were they?

Ugh… it was unsettling to think too much about the creatures she was killing.

Bishop finally embraced her. Her armor prevented him from transmitting much body heat, but the shaking was slowly subsiding.

“You two alright otherwise?” he turned his gaze to the wolf a minute later. Karnwyr only gave him an excited bark as he turned back to sniffing around the corpses and then the ground subsequently, searching for the Falmers’ trail. He seemed eager to continue now that he could join the fights.

“Y-yeah. Just a few bruises,” she nodded. “We should probably try to be quieter… There’s definitely more of them,” her eyes fell on Karnwyr who nudged his muzzle in between them, ushering them to follow his nose.

…

They stared at the scene in front of them.

They watched from atop a ledge of stone. Below them, down a set long stairs, there was an entire colony of Falmer – dwellings and strange fences as far as the eyes could see.

The creatures were scurrying around everywhere and there were some strange… bug-things in their pens.

“There’s no way we won’t alert all of them at once…” she whispered as quietly as she could. Picking them off one by one would take forever and in that time, one of those things would surely notice the corpses or hear the arrows, alerting the rest.

“Well… looks like we’re going all out, princess,” he nodded determinedly. It may have been a bad idea to take on this place, but the further in they got, the more resolute he felt about getting to the end.

They’ve survived so much of the ruin already.

It was strange what the adrenaline did to him. Usually he was against taking unnecessary risks, but walking back now just seemed so… disappointing.

It felt like clearing this place out would somewhat take the sting of his previous experiences in Dwemer ruins.

“Alright. You gonna stay here? Because I’ll probably need to Shout,” she looked over the amount of Falmer. Gods knew how many more were hidden in their dwellings! She needed to be sure that Bishop wasn’t in the way of her Shouts. Karnwyr’s already gotten well synchronized with her – he knew to stay away from her line of sight and he even kept a certain distance at all times if possible. His survival instincts were really impressive, no wonder he was able to keep alive alone for so long in that fighting pit when the bandits captured him.

But Bishop would likely be an obstruction on the front lines – the Falmer-infested area looked too dark for her to see him clearly. She was much more comfortable with knowing where he was.

“Yeah. Go on. I’ll pick some off before you two get down.”

…

The blood splattered across her face as she smashed her mace across another one’s head.

“YOL!!!”

They were endlessly swarming around her.

They’ve collectively killed dozens of them already but there were still more out there.

And the bugs… those horrible bugs! They spat something sticky and burning on her constantly. The substance was seeping into the rings of her underchain, sticking to her skin.

She couldn’t let up though. No matter how exhausted she was, there must have been an end to them.

Bishop’s arm was starting to shake every time he drew his bow.

He must have let out a hundred arrows already. He really wished he was ambidextrous, his right arm was cramping so badly.

There was no end to them.

Fuck, they should have just retreated. This was suicide.

Some of the creatures noticed his presence up on the ledge, but the havoc Aeyrin and Karnwyr wreaked in the middle of their ‘village’ kept them much more occupied. Besides, they would likely need the place to be a lot more quiet to determine where exactly the arrows were coming from.

He still changed position from time to time, just to make sure some of them didn’t get the bright idea to shoot back at him.

He stepped aside again while drawing his bow. A sharp pain coursed through his bicep.

Then he felt it again. Down under his foot.

It reminded him of the same feeling he got in the haunted barrow in Ivarstead.

Only this time she wasn’t right beside him to help.

He barely registered what happened. Something crushed into his back, an overwhelming speed and force of a literal ton of metal, sending all his bones shaking.

His body was thrown violently down below, his vision darkening at the impact.

It should have hurt… but he was so numb, he couldn’t feel it.

“FUS RO DAH!!!”

The sound rumbled through the chamber.

His vision was slowly returning, but his head was spinning worse than after those three sujamma bottles.

Were those things _flying_?

Great… flying Falmer… he knew something was missing in their apocalypse.

One of the creatures crashed into the ledge he was on previously, falling down and not getting up again. The second one seemed to manage to protect itself with its hands during its fall, scrapping up to its feet.

Fuck it was so close to him… and his ragged breathing was so loud.

That thing started to scamper towards him and all he could do was watch.

What was it Aeyrin said about luck?

A sudden loud furious bark diverted the Falmer’s attention momentarily as the wolf darted towards his friend’s assailant in an instant, charging on it.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only one of them whose attention the wolf earned.

Aeyrin looked around in a second of respite when she heard the alarmed bark. She knew what it meant – Bishop was in danger.

The Shout cleared the swarm around her, but they were still approaching fast. Some of them, however, seemed to be heading in a different direction – towards the ledge.

This was too much. She was so exhausted and she didn’t even see any arrows flying by anymore.

This needed to stop.

Gathering her strength, she raised her shield, turning back towards the ledge. With all the remaining energy she could muster she charged, bashing through the Falmer heading that way.

They caught up quickly.

One of the creatures slashed around with its sword, as if it expected her charge.

She could feel it pressing sharply into the chain on her flank, the metal rings digging into the skin under her tunic painfully, undoubtedly leaving her with a very deep scratch.

She cried out in pain. The rings behind the thin fabric got stuck in between her torn flesh, refusing to dislodge and digging into her skin.

Her knees buckled under her, but in her fall, she noticed Bishop’s body only a short distance away.

“FUS RO DAH!!!”

The Falmer approaching rapidly flew away with the force she let out, but the heave of her body made her scream out in pain right after. The chain still refused to budge from inside the wound. The searing pain was getting worse with each second.

“Aeyrin…” Bishop groaned in effort, trying to get up on his feet. They refused to listen, all he could do was to crawl towards her weakly. At the very least he managed somehow to fasten the bow he was clutching onto his back.

She did the same, and crawled towards him. The brief break in the Falmer assault allowed them to reach each other and they huddled together in effort.

“We… we need to…” Aeyrin gasped out in effort and pain.

He just nodded in response. If they didn’t get out from the open field, they wouldn’t survive for longer than a few minutes.

“Karnwyr!” she called out to him desperately. The wolf ran towards them hurriedly and she enveloped both Bishop and him in a firm grim, staying on her knees. She hoped it would work.

She thought for a while of going back where they came from, but the idea of getting all the way back, wounded as they were, made her shiver. And without their packs. They were likely still waiting for them up on the ledge.

“WULD!!!”

The motion tore through their broken bodies, but there was no other way now. At the very least, she managed to move all of them, but it hurt so much more to keep the tight grip on them through the lightning fast movement.

“WULD!!!”

The Falmer were staggered by the echoing sound ringing all through the large hall. It made them scurry around in panic.

“WULD!!!”

Finally!

They made it to the stairs leading further in.

The wolf was the first to start running up towards the still unexplored chamber above.

They both crawled after him, broken and exhausted. Every movement caused so much pain.

The Falmer were making their way to them again, carefully scurrying, obviously listening for every breath they let out.

They finally made it up there, getting past the doorway arch separating the chamber, only to stare at the what awaited them in disbelief.

This… was their end.

“What is that…?” she gasped out half-silently, the exasperation and despair palpable in her voice.

An enormous construct towered at the end of the chamber, the sound of steam escaping its extremities, drowning out the noise of the scurrying Falmer behind them.

It was active and it was going to kill them.

Karnwyr barked loudly. He waited for them by an empty circular chamber and signaled for them to get there.

Well… at least there they could hold out for some time like that, trying to get rid of anything attacking through the door instead of getting surrounded like this.

“WULD!!!”

Finally the chain and fabric dislodged from her flesh with the jerky motion, but the pain hardly stopped. Their potions were far out of reach and any remaining energy had to be spent on trying to survive the waves of Falmer and that giant construct.

They stayed on the ground, half-lying there weakly, watching what was going on around them.

Karnwyr ran towards them into the circular alcove. There was nothing in there save for a lever in the middle. It was likely another trap.

Surprisingly enough, some of the Falmer started attacking the giant Dwemer construct.

Good. Maybe they’ll all slaughter each other.

There were plenty more that were still heading towards them, however, their swords drawn menacingly.

“FUS RO – Ahh!!!”

She Shouted, swallowing the last word, this time involuntarily. Instead she let out another scream of pain, clutching her flank with her arms.

He tried to get a hold of his bow, but the sharp pain shot through him again. If he could only get a minute of rest, to think, to figure out what to do.

He looked over the alcove desperately. There was nothing that could help them. Not a single thing.

Although…

There didn’t seem to be any holes or anything that would suggest a trap.

There was nothing to lose – this couldn’t go on.

He grabbed the lever firmly, pulling on it without hesitation while trying to ignore the shooting pain in his arm.

It worked! He was right!

Several metal bars shot from the entrance to their hiding place, sealing them in and their enemies out.

The Falmer would get bows or mages, but for now they had a moment. At least a brief moment to gather their strength.

Aeyrin gave Bishop a shocked look – both relief and despair etched on her face. It was helpful, but they still needed to…

Suddenly the ground shook, deep rumble echoing across the alcove’s circular wall.

It made both of them stagger, even in their mostly grounded positions. They instinctively enveloped each other in a protective embrace as Karnwyr huddled in with them with a scared whimper.

“W-what’s happening?” she stammered, the aches of her body were suddenly the least of her concerns.

“I don’t know…” he answered briskly, the fear and shock in his voice palpable. He did not expect a trap this big…

The ground started to rise below them, steadily traveling upwards.

Their gazes were fixed above – there was only darkness, nothing in sight.

And soon all the light was gone as they were sealed in the tunnel, travelling upwards towards their inevitable deaths.

There would be some spikes up there, impaling them, or the trap would simply crush them all into a pulp when it connected with the ceiling.

He felt her hand on his cheek suddenly, her lips capturing his in an insistent desperate kiss. He could feel the tears running down her face.

All that was left unsaid seemed to be hidden the long kiss as their arms clasped each other. Karnwyr nuzzled into them and they enveloped him in their collective embrace.

A loud metallic sounds echoed from above.

Whatever was going to happen to them, was going to happen soon.


	91. The Light at the End

The unbearably loud sound echoing through their ears finally subsided.

And then there was…

Draft.

Fresh air.

And light.

The platform stopped moving under them and they parted slowly, uncertainly. It took a while before they opened their eyes and adjusted from the impenetrable darkness.

There were stone walls all around them, but one of them had bars made of Dwemer metal. And behind it they could finally see the snow, nature and light outside.

They were alive.

They were alive and out of that place.

They made it.

At first, they looked at each other with uncertainty, as if neither of them was sure whether they weren’t actually dead.

After a second, both of them simultaneously erupted into laughter. There was so much relief, despair and disbelief in the laughter. They were uncertain on what else to do in that situation.

They both still ached all over and the supplies and all the loot they gathered were still down there, somewhere in the hands of the Falmer.

They had nothing but their arms and armor, but they had their lives.

The structure they were in had nothing inside safe for two levers. The one in the center of the platform would undoubtedly send them back to that place and to their deaths. The second one was right by the bars – surely a way to escape.

They didn’t move an inch though. They couldn’t.

They stayed huddled together in a close embrace, exhausted beyond belief.

Aeyrin managed to muster some of her strength to heal at the very least some of her injuries. Her slash wound was beyond her current capabilities, but at least she could prevent it from getting infected. Bishop was much more battered than wounded and he may have had some fractures. Unfortunately, she had no way to help him out much with any of it.

They needed healing. Lots of it. But they had no money, no energy to travel and on top of that no idea where they were.

Neither of them said a word – they were both aware of their predicament all too well. But they didn’t have it in them to even get up and get their bearings.

They lay together, closing their eyes.

Some rest would give them strength.

…

“Bo, Dovahkiin. Zu’u koraav hi.”

The ground rumbled as the deep loud voice startled them all awake, making them snap to attention instantly. They both stared in shock at the giant dragon maw peering at them. There was a curious look it its eyes when they roamed over the prey behind the bars.

It looked like it… smiled.

Smugly and arrogantly. As if it was taunting them.

It said that word: ‘Dovahkiin’ – it knew who she was!

“Horvutah vahdin, ahst dii aaz. Nid filok. Paak,” the rumble shook the ground again, the tone mocking. The gloating was disturbing and even though they had no idea what it actually said, the intent was clear. Why did it assume them helpless? It knew who it was dealing with. Shouldn’t this immortal being be at least a little concerned over the possibility of actual _death_?

Then again, none of them ever seemed to be concerned about Aeyrin before. Didn’t they know how many she already killed?

Not that she felt ready to take one on _now_ …

Bishop grabbed his bow instantly, his sore muscles and bones screaming for him to stop, eliciting a loud grunt of pain from him.

It didn’t matter. Like fuck he would let a dragon kill them after what they’ve been through in those ruins!

A mean chuckle echoed through the air as the dragon opened its maw. A fiery light formed at the back of its throat only a second later.

That sounded so disturbingly… human.

“KRII!!!”

_SWISH_

Red glow enveloped the creature as the arrow pierced right through its maw, making the dragon roar in pain.

They’ve done this before, even without armor, they could do it again.

Aeyrin’s heart was beating wildly. She couldn’t attack it with the bars in the way, but what was worse, a debilitating fear enveloped her.

What would happen when they killed it?! She almost died the last time, she could feel it. She could feel death seeping into her flesh and bones. What if she reached some sort of limit? Or what if she just couldn’t take the consumption in a weakened state? She wasn’t even half as broken and tired before as she was now!

Every inch of her was shaking.

The dragon recovered, opening its maw again menacingly. This time it managed to finish its attack.

“FEIM!!!”

Bishop and Karnwyr jumped towards one of the walls instinctively when the flames seeped rapidly through the bars inside the structure. They just barely missed them as they passed through the ethereal elf in the middle of the platform.

The heat made the leather armor stick to Bishop unpleasantly again. It was uncomfortable, but not as much as his battered body. He was honestly surprised that he was still able to move, but his fight instinct took over naturally, forcing his body on.

He quickly jumped towards the lever on the wall and pulled on it. The bars lowered instantly, giving Aeyrin the opportunity to lunge at the beast and bash its smug maw.

The dragon recoiled in pain, smashing its tail into the side of the structure. She charged at it again, but it soared suddenly and began to circle in the skies above.

Bishop left the structure, aiming at the beast, but it was too fast. It evaded every arrow with brisk and unpredictable movements.

It seemed to be circling towards the mountain above them.

They continuously followed the dragon, attacking, evading its flames or simply trying to keep it in their sight.

Was it retreating? If so, why so slowly?

It almost seemed like it was leading them somewhere.

They almost made it up the mountain when suddenly the dragons cunning intent became clear.

Soft drumming started to echo in Aeyrin’s ears.

There was a Wall there!

Divines, did it actually know the effect it had on her?! That was so disturbing!

It was going to weaken her intentionally. It _knew_. It knew that if she was weak, she wouldn’t survive. Maybe it was some sort of attempt at heroic sacrifice. Or what if its soul actually took over her body instead?

The panic was rising inside her steadily.

She started to hurry upwards, ignoring her pain and fatigue and leaving the baffled ranger some distance behind. No matter the dragon’s plan, she was desperate to reach the Wall as soon as possible.

The beast picked up its pace when it noticed the success its trick had. It reached the top of the mountain before her and perched atop the Wall at the summit.

Its maw looked like it twisted into another smug grin, the loud voice rumbling through the air: “Los hi kril, Dovahkiin?”

Bishop reached the summit a little while later, aiming at the creature atop the Wall instantly. The reason for Aeyrin’s hurried flight up the mountain was finally made clear to him.

She saw the arrow fly by her and hitting the dragon vaguely. She could barely hear anymore and her vision was darkening steadily. She needed to hurry. Bishop had her back.

“WULD!!!”

After the very confusing lightning movement she stopped right by the blindingly glowing runes and peered at the ancient words.

_ZUL MEY GUT_

Bishop continued to pester the dragon with his arrows, piercing its head several times. It wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer at this pace and at least he was keeping it too busy from attacking Aeyrin in her trance.

Suddenly he noticed some odd movement right by her side.

There was a sarcophagus, buried under a layer of snow. It was barely visible before, but now, it was plain to see. Its lid flew off in great speed, crashing into a snow bank, as the creature from inside sprung into the air menacingly.

Fuck! It was one of the floating mage things!

_Dammit, princess, snap out of it!_

The draugr started to swirl its arms immediately, preparing some nasty spell. The dragon opened its maw again in the meantime, aiming at Aeyrin.

There was no time! She seemed to be regaining herself but all too slowly.

Bishop aimed at the beast’s maw again. He had to choose between his targets and the dragon was simply more dangerous.

It roared in pain, but the mage already finished its casting, letting a fiery orb fly towards Aeyrin.

_FUCK!_

“FEIM!!!”

She didn’t even know what happened – it was as if something let out that Shout for her. She saw flames all around her. Her skin was burning slightly, but it subsided quickly. It was likely that all she caught was the residual heat before the flames actually hit her.

Did she notice the fire out of the corner of her eye? She didn’t remember that being the case. Maybe just her mind was clouded. But if not… did her body actually respond without her consciousness? She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. She hated losing control.

There was no time to ponder it though; her form was already materializing. She turned around briskly, only for her eyes to land on the ancient draugr mage with palpable shock.

Where did _that_ come from?!

“KRII!!!”

The Shout left her mouth determinedly, her mace swinging into the skeletal spine instantly.

_I know how to deal with your kind!_

A wave of relief washed over Bishop when the spell missed Aeyrin . He didn’t let up, constantly planting more and more arrows into the dragon’s maw and body. It was roaring in pain constantly.

The mage crumbled to the ground after her assault and flames engulfed its body at last.

She turned her gaze upwards to the dragon perching on top of the Wall.

It was almost dead, she could tell already.

Bishop could finish it off with no trouble now. It at least gave her a minute to recover from the somewhat confusing battle and brace herself for what was to come. She retreated some distance away from the Wall, wary that when the beast would die, it would topple right onto her.

The last roar of agony finally escaped its maw and it toppled from atop the stone Wall into the snow below.

Aeyrin hurried towards Bishop instantly. The worst was yet to come.

What if she didn’t make it?

Bishop let his bow drop on the ground and embraced her tightly as they both fell to their knees together. The fear in her eyes must have been plain to see.

“It’s alright. You can do this. You’ve done this so many times before… you’ll be fine,” he whispered into her ear, hoping to hide the panic in his voice. Truth was, he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t more scared than her. What happened the last time near Solitude was… nerve-wrecking. It could happen again. Or worse…

Maybe it was just that weird dragon. But what if it wasn’t? She was still wounded and exhausted.

Her hand moved frantically between their bodies and he looked down to see her fish her necklaces from under her armor, gripping them tightly as she pressed herself more firmly into his embrace.

It made him oddly happy, despite the situation.

The light enveloped her, entered her. She could feel the individual strings of it weaving inside her, surrounding her bones, her organs and squeezing them tightly. She couldn’t breathe, her blood stopped flowing, her heart stopped beating. This was surely it for her. Then there was fire. She _knew_ that her organs were being steadily burned to a crisp. She could feel the lumps of their remains in her body cavities. When there was nothing more left, smoke started to come out of those remains. She could feel it precisely, she could picture what was happening inside her so vividly. The smoke filled her insides. She started to cough wildly, heaving and struggling to breathe. She could feel the excess smoke escaping her every orifice. She was sure to suffocate.

Wait… didn’t her lungs just burn? How could she be suffocating?

There was a strange jolt going through her. Her own voice echoed in her head.

The pain and the heat, they were unbearable.

But there, at the back of her mind, a gnawing feeling kept digging into her thoughts incessantly, trying to scream at her.

_This isn’t real! This isn’t real! This isn’t real!_

Her skin was burning , sweat pooling under her armor.

But she forced herself to open her eyes.

She looked around, up at Bishop. It wasn’t over, her insides still felt filled with smoke but now she could see – she wasn’t coughing like she thought, there was no smoke coming out of her. The pain was there, but…

Was it?

He looked at her with creased brows, uncertain about what happened.

It usually took much longer for her to seem at least a little present…

“Princess?” he studied her face, looking for any hint of anything out of the ordinary.

“I-I-I’m fine…” she stammered, still uncertain of what just happened.

Did she just snap herself out of it?

A wave of euphoria washed over her. As if all the aches and the exhaustion were a long forgotten memory. They weren’t and she knew they’d be back soon enough when the adrenaline from the battle would stop sustaining her energy. But at that moment…

She grabbed him almost violently by the ears, planting her mouth on his in a deep kiss. Her tongue twined with his eagerly, her teeth nipping at his lower lip every now and then.

It caught him off guard at first but he responded only a second later. His hands tangled in her hair, dipping her head backwards and biting at the exposed skin of her neck, suckling on the spot there. The low moan escaping her throat had him completely enthralled.

Fuck their battered states! He wanted her. _Now_.

He started to frantically fiddle with the fastenings of her armor when she started to do the same to his. They struggled with their equipment for quite a while, but the passion didn’t wane one bit. They constantly interrupted each other’s efforts with eager nips or kisses to every part of their already exposed skins.

Aeyrin finally managed to get the jacket of his armor off and draped his tunic over his head. There were so many dark bruises on his torso. He knew that his back was likely even worse after the assault of that massive trap. But right then, he couldn’t care less.

His hardness pressed uncomfortably at the leather of his trousers and he directed her hands down to his crotch impatiently before he returned to struggling with her own armor. Why was it so hard to take off?! When he finally managed to get off the plates on her torso and thighs, she has already freed him from his confines and her hand was moving over his length eagerly.

His groans filled her ears and his hands got even more impatient as he undressed her. He quickly draped the underchain shirt over her head, followed immediately by her tunic.

The fabric of her shirt was often still clinging to her open wound though. She cried out in pain as the fabric, tore from her flesh forcefully and Bishop felt a chill go down his spine at the sound. He thought it would put a damper on their activities, but instead she gave him a half-reassuring and half-pained smile. She pushed on his torso, forcing him to sit himself down into the snow. It would hardly bother _him_ , besides, the clothes and armor on his lower half were still mostly in place.

She turned around, her back to him as he still sat on the ground in the snow. A second later she quickly lowered the underchain as well as every bit of cloth down to her thigs.

She backed into his lap and looked over her shoulder at him with lust in her eyes. After all they’ve been through she wanted nothing more than to feel alive with him, right then and there, while the rush of the battle still kept them more or less oblivious to their wounds and pains.

He positioned himself eagerly to her wetness, entering her. She let out a loud moan as he filled her up fully and started to move against him instantly, her motions frantic and impatient. All she could concentrate on was the feeling of his hard cock rubbing against her walls, everything else was forgotten.

He bit into her neck as she quickened her pace, riding him. One of his hands grabbed her breast firmly, purposefully choosing the hale side of her. The other hand snaked around her waist and his fingers started to rub along her wet slit, eliciting more and more high-pitched gasps from her.

She couldn’t hold back anymore – the euphoria of her previous achievement along with the feel of him all over her body won over her so soon. She cried out as the electricity of excitement shot through her and her whole body began pulsating wildly. Her legs suddenly felt weak and were unable to keep up the pace of her movements any longer.

He made up for it instantly and pressed on her back to move her on all fours. The snow started to freeze her hands right away, but she couldn’t care less when he entered her again. He began ramming into her hard and fast, all too eager to reach his own peak. She let out steady moans at the sensations, overly sensitive from her release.

Fuck, the way she constantly squeezed him inside her drove him wild. He couldn’t even remember that he’s ever been in pain or exhausted. He just wanted to do this forever. His hand kept kneading her soft breast. He loved the feel of them so much. They were perfect, he just wanted to touch them all the time.

He slapped her across her buttcheek firmly, making her yelp out in surprise. A low groan of approval escaped her lips when he started kneading it a second later. Fuck, he loved her firm ass too. And he loved the moans she let out when things got wilder and rougher.

He told her it was always fun when the repressed feelings from a youth spent in temples bubbled up. He was really glad that he was right.

He thrusted deep inside her, feeling himself come over the edge at last. He let out a loud satisfied moan and his hands squeezed her breast and buttocks even more firmly.

She shivered against him when he filled her. Her arms threatened to buckle under her weight suddenly. Especially when his hand returned to tease her between her legs again with his cock still buried inside her, softening steadily.

She gasped and moaned frantically under his insistent ministrations, trembling and tightening around him. He slipped out of her, filling her with his fingers instead right away. He was eager to hear the sounds she made when she came again.

He spread his fingers, curling them, his thumb strumming against her other hole, mercilessly intent on sending her over the edge once more.

She cried out, her body still quivering incessantly. Jolts of pleasure coursed through her steadily, making her finally succumb.

He removed his fingers after a while, falling back to sit on the ground again, breathing heavily as the snow cooled his heated body.

She turned to him and fell into his embrace. Her face was bright red and her eyes sparkled irresistibly.

He strummed the fingers that were inside her over her lower lip with a low pleased growl. The sight of her like this was threatening to get him going again.

She enveloped her mouth over his fingers instinctively. Whatever possessed her to do that, she couldn’t stop herself. She gave him a long look as she cleaned them off, slowly suckling on them. She was pretty sure she’s never given anyone a lascivious look like that.

There was something strange going on with her every time she triumphed over those beasts in another way.

Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself…

Overcoming the pain of absorbing the soul like that… it filled her with so much vigor.

The taste of the both of them mixed together lingered in her mouth as she slowly withdrew his hand from her.

The look in his eyes… he looked ready to devour her all over again.

“Fuck, sweetness… If this didn’t kill me… nothing ever will…” he chuckled and leaned in, biting into his favorite spot on her neck again.

“We could… nhhg… we could say that about a lot of things today…” she attempted to smirk through another groan of pleasure and wrapped her hands around him. Both of them were still breathing heavily and unevenly.

“What were we doing again?” he laughed with his face still buried into her neck. He kissed her throat gently and started to stroke over her bare breasts slowly. He was pretty sure there wasn’t much time left before the heat of their exertions subsided and she would be freezing again, too eager to cover herself.

“I think we were trying to survive…” she laughed along with him and rested her head against his.

…

“POTIONS!!!”

Bishop yelled out while he rifled through the dead man’s bag.

Aeyrin hurried towards him as much as she could. The aches of their bodies returned all too soon after the adrenaline and excitement washed away, hitting them hard.

This was the best find he could get. Neither of them were eager to return down to the ruins for their packs and they needed to at least numb their bodies until they could get some healing.

They’ve looked down the mountain previously, determining their location.

The closest city was Windhelm… unfortunately. They couldn’t go back there.

Aeyrin did suggest that Bishop could get healing from Jora – she wouldn’t turn him down. Then at least one of them would be able to move and fight properly. But he refused – it would be much faster if they went to Sondas, even though it was in the other direction of their intended journey to Winterhold. Besides, they wouldn’t have to pay him with the money they currently _didn’t_ have.

They each downed a potion, sighing out in relief. At the very least, they could now move more properly and scour the mountain for anything useful before they headed back towards Darkwater Crossing. Karnwyr has found his way back to them too at last. He didn’t follow them up the mountain previously, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be of any help against a dragon.

Bishop returned to rummage inside the corpse’s pack by his feet while Aeyrin looked around some more. The man appeared to be an adventurer. He had the gear for it. He very likely stumbled upon the dragon by accident. Or maybe he had high hopes for slaying the creature. They could at the very least take his pack and some of his more valuable stuff to make up for whatever they lost in the ruins.

“Look what I found!” Aeyrin called out to Bishop and rushed over to him, a strange metal mask in hand. It was the only thing that didn’t disintegrate from the draugr mage. There was a light tingle of magic on it, but she couldn’t tell what it did without having someone more experienced examine it.

“That’s one fugly face,” he smirked, taking the mask from her and examining it.

She smiled, looking over the corpse by his feet. Hopefully they could get more useful things than the potions from the poor man. She dropped down to her knees and started to search the man’s belongings now that Bishop was preoccupied with the strange mask.

She tried to go through everything in her pack. Thank the Eight for having the option to leave some things in Breezehome. She knew she left the more valuable or sentimental things there – like the headband from Casavir or most of her books on dragon lore.

She lost the books on Talos, sadly enough. Her beautiful cloak and her lute. And the strange potions that made one look like a ghost. The letter she composed for Master Therien was also there, but she could just write another one.

Still… it was a shame. They might be able to try and go back there, but they would definitely need a better tactic.

She looked up toward Bishop – maybe they could come up with something…

“Aaah!”

She screamed out in surprise at the expressionless metal face staring at her above the familiar black leather armor.

Bishop started to laugh immediately at her reaction, obviously pleased with the result.

“You ass! I hope it’s cursed!” she chuckled and shook her head at him.

It was impressive how easy it was to lighten the mood or succumb to pleasure in his presence, when just moments ago she was sure she was going to die horribly. And so many times today… She wasn’t sure if it was the despair and lingering fear that made them this susceptible to frivolousness, but it was admittedly somewhat soothing.

He took off the mask with a grin and looked around the summit a while later, as if to see whether they’ve left something useful or valuable there.

“Well… go on. Try it out already,” he nodded at her, inclining his head towards the Wall after a bit.

“I don’t know. There were actually three words there this time… It might be powerful,” she bit her lip nervously. The last thing she needed now was another mishap to get her off her confidence high.

“So look them up first.”

She gave him a level look. The Falmer were surely enjoying the book on dragon language right this second.

“Right… It’ll be fine. Come on, we’ll go far.”

Bishop took Karnwyr towards the other side of the summit, watching her expectantly from the distance.

“ZUL mey gut…”

She started to Shout, but suddenly her voice got really quiet uncontrollably. What just happened? Her throat tickled oddly.

In an instant there was a sound coming from where she was looking – right by the edge of the mountain.

It was… _her_ voice?

“HEY! SKEEVER BUTT!”

What in Oblivion?! That _was_ her voice! Right there in the distance!

 _‘Skeever butt’_?! She never said that!

“What?!” Bishop stared with his mouth ajar, looking at her in confusion. “Did you just shout ‘skeever butt’ into the air?!” he started to walk back to her, snickering, his eyes still wide in bafflement.

“NO! I never said that! I did a Shout! Didn’t you hear?”

“No… I heard you yell ‘skeever butt’. Way over there for that matter…” he pointed towards the edge of the mountain.

“I… something weird happened. Just… go back, I’ll try again.”

Bishop’s lips were still upturned in a disbelieving snicker while he shook his head at her: “I think I’m safe here. Go on, do it again.”

She scowled at him but didn’t press the issue further.

She had no idea what happened but it must have been some… magical anomaly or something.

“ZUL mey gut…”

“HEY! SLUG-BREATH!”

Her voice echoed across the mountains as she stared into the air, her mouth ajar.

She never said that!

Bishop started to roar in laughter, heaving dramatically: “Fuck! You’ve… You’ve got to be doing this on purpose! ‘ _Slug-breath_ ’?! Hahahaha!”

“NO! I didn’t say that! I don’t… I just Shout and then… this… happens,” she threw up her arms in exasperation.

What was even the purpose of that?

“This is fucking priceless! It makes up insults for you! That’s good. You need help with that. You only ever call me an ‘ass’. You should really expand your vocabulary,” he still laughed merrily.

“Well you’re only ever being an ass, so that’s not on _me!_ ” she chuckled at him. It was weird not being able to control the words but… it _was_ perhaps a little funny…

“See? That was better already! It’s for practice. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“I guess it’s the answer to what were the ancient Dragonborn doing for fun…” she smiled at him while he still laughed hysterically. It was somewhat infectious.

“Do it again!” he clapped his hands together like a little boy excited to see magic for the first time.

She rolled her eyes, chuckling. Then she turned back towards the edge of the mountain.

“ZUL mey gut…”

“HEY! TROLL HUMPER!”

Bishop’s laughter echoed across the mountains as he fell to the ground, clutching his stomach with his arms.

He was surely a little loopy from the potion.

“Fuck! I know, I know! Let’s go back to Windhelm!” he still roared in merry laughter, barely able to explain. “You’ll wear that mask thing! We’ll wait until Ulfric is with his soldiers and you’ll Shout this at him over and over! He’ll never know where it’s coming from!”

She couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

Honestly, it was somewhat tempting.

“I mean… what is even the purpose of this Shout? How is it helpful?” she shook her head as Bishop slowly started to compose himself, getting off of the ground and brushing the snow from his armor.

“I don’t know… It’s where you’re looking, not where you are. So I guess… diversion? If your enemy doesn’t see you…” his voice trailed off and they both looked at each other in realization.

The plan was already forming in their minds.


	92. Taking What's Yours

“I don’t know… I just… _knew_. I don’t know how to explain it…”

She shrugged, curling up to him in Sondas’s bed.

The elf was really grumpy that they were back so soon, but the villagers were excited at the prospect of more free meat. Well… not exactly free. Sondas had to provide his services in exchange.

They were battered and bruised worse than they thought and the elf actually offered them his bed to recover – Bishop especially needed to rest somewhere else than on the ground.

He did condition it on ‘no funny business’.

Karnwyr was enjoying his stay by the fire – he rarely got to stay inside, aside from when they were in Whiterun. The innkeepers generally weren’t big on letting a wolf in, or even a large dog, if they managed to convince someone of that. Bishop eventually stopped trying.

“What do you mean ‘ _knew’_? You always knew, right? You always ask me about shit afterwards, like if you were on fire or stuff like that. You know it isn’t real,” he creased his brows at her. She looked excited when she explained to him what happened after she absorbed the dragon’s soul, but he really didn’t see the difference. He could see that this time it didn’t take as long for her to recover, but that was about it.

Still… if she was more confident about handling the dragon souls, it could only be a good thing.

And it calmed him down somewhat too.

The events in Solitude were nerve-wracking enough for the both of them.

“Yeah… but this time I knew while it was happening. It’s not… rational… I can’t think straight when it’s happening. This time I realized that it wasn’t real. I don’t know… it felt different, after,” she lowered her eyes, unsure how to explain.

“Hmm… well whatever that means, it sounds good. Maybe it’ll just be getting easier now…” he gave her an encouraging squeeze around her shoulder, but he had doubts. It _was_ a good sign, but from experience, it was always a lot of ups and downs regarding her powers. But the more confident she got in them, the better in any case.

“So… you really think we can pull this off?” she gave him a wry smile, tapping her fingers on his chest lightly.

“I don’t know… but it’s worth a shot, right? I mean… it’s kind of a perfect opportunity. And I’ll be damned if I let those fuckers get their creepy hands on my shit!” he grinned. It was a bold plan, considering what happened to them down in those ruins, but the new Shout _did_ present an irresistible opportunity.

“What did you even have in your pack?” she giggled. He didn’t really lug a lot of stuff around…

“Loot, sweetness, loot!” he laughed. The idea of going to Winterhold without any money whatsoever didn’t really appeal to him. If anything could take the sting out of dealing with the pompous mages, it was their enchantments and magical trinkets. Those were really expensive though.

“Well… we _did_ go through a lot for that loot… and now that we know how, we can always run away if things go wrong,” she pondered. She really wasn’t eager to go back down, but she _did_ regret the things left behind. They were just things, but still…

Besides, the fact that they almost explored and entire Dwemer complex and only ran at the very end… it was disappointing. She was so curious about the last chambers. And the Falmer would have somehow beaten the giant construct for certain with their superior numbers.

Maybe they could even clear the place out with the help of her new power. Divines knew that they’ve taken down so many of those creepy things already.

And getting rid of them would surely be a good thing. They weren’t people anymore – she had to remind herself of that. What if some poor scholar was to explore the cleared-out ruins only to get eaten alive by those monsters in the end?!

“We’re not running, ladyship. We’re gonna show them not to mess with us! You know… by Shouting insults at them from all directions. That’ll teach them,” Bishop laughed.

He seemed really giddy about her new Shout.

…

After their rest and recuperation, and some time spent hunting for the payment, they headed straight back towards the structure with the moving platform.

There was a chance that the bars would close after some time on their own – Dwemer mechanisms were unpredictable. Lucky for them, that wasn’t the case.

They stepped back onto the platform, pulling on the lever and bracing themselves for the challenge to come.

“You’re not gonna laugh at that Shout again, are you? Because it’ll blow our cover,” she smirked at him, although it was hardly effective in the complete darkness the contraption trapped them in.

It was still somewhat unsettling to be enclosed in the moving chamber, but much less so than before when they were both convinced those were their last moments.

“I’ll try to contain myself,” he snickered. That was a bad sign already.

The light slowly peeked through the barred entrance as the chamber came to a halt. There was no creature in immediate sight, save for the crumbled remains of the giant construct.

When the bars retracted, they slowly crept through the room, peeking outside into the large chamber to check on the Falmer.

There was still plenty of them, but their situation seemed way less daunting now than before.

They had a plan now.

Maybe a little bit of a ridiculous plan, but they were sure it would be effective. The new Shout was perfect for not only getting their things back, but also for actually getting rid of all the Falmer down there.

They discussed previously whether to try and explore the last chamber and get their things stealthily before attacking the Falmer, but the knowledge of those creatures scurrying around made them both too nervous.

As counterproductive as it would have been, they could have always just escaped again and try later.

The opportune exit made everything so much easier.

“Alright, _please_ stay in the light this time. They can’t see you anyways,” she whispered to Bishop reproachfully as he was taking position on another ledge above the stairs, right next to the exit to the last chamber. This time he was looking under his feet constantly, checking for any traps. He did not need another surprise like the last time.

When he was in a good position, he started to pick off some of the Falmer. He began with the ones that were more secluded at first not to alert the entire horde right away. He took his time, aiming properly, making sure to kill them in one shot. Last time was too hectic, too out of control. They were exhausted and eager to get to the end.

This time they wouldn’t make such mistakes, no matter how long it took.

She watched the scene with the wolf silently, not engaging. None of the Falmer seemed to notice Bishop’s stealthy attacks yet.

Karnwyr gave her a rather disappointed look – this was not his idea of a battle.

She shrugged her shoulders at him apologetically. It wasn’t exactly exciting, but the idea of having the entire area free of those creatures, with them free to explore and loot as they pleased, was too tempting to ruin with reckless behavior.

Suddenly one of the Falmer started screeching.

That was her cue.

“ZUL mey gut…”

“HEY! MOSS LICKER!”

Why were those insults even in current Cyrodilic, if she wasn’t the one saying them? It was so disturbing…

The Falmer scampered towards one of the dwellings immediately, further from Bishop, leaving him to pick off several of them again on their way.

This went on a for a while. The Falmer were getting panicked and confused, running around, screeching and trying to find the source of the disturbances.

Finally there were only about a dozen more of those things scurrying around.

Bishop kept picking them off one by one as Aeyrin decided it was safe enough to join the fray, rushing down the stairs with her mace ready.

Karnwyr joined her eagerly and lunged at one of the creatures at once, sinking his sharp canine teeth into its leg with a feral growl.

She swung her weapon around, crushing it unto the Falmer, felling them with ease.

A few moments later the battle was over.

Bishop hopped down from the ledge and headed straight towards the other side of the room to locate their abandoned packs.

She scoured the nearby abodes meticulously. She found odd ingredients and weapons, all looking like they were made from the bug-like creatures that attacked her during their previous raid. At least those were all gone by the time they made their escape – whatever substance they were spewing, it was beyond nasty.

Bishop returned to her with a victorious grin on his face and passed her pack to her. Fortunately, it was untouched by the creatures, all her stuff still right where she left it.

“I was worried those things would take our things and… eat them or something…” she gave him a wry smile.

“I guess the packs were hard to find when you’re blind,” he smirked, looking over the loot she gathered in some of the dwellings. He had no idea if that stuff was valuable to anyone – he never really explored many Falmer-infested caverns and if he by a chance stumbled upon one, he never lingered. Those things seemed to be everywhere, always getting the jump on him.

They looked through the remainder of the dwellings, but found nothing of much interest besides a few gnawed bones and some body remains.

Aeyrin really hoped all of those people were bandits.

Then again, even bandits probably didn’t deserve that fate.

She has been struggling somewhat with her previously black and white view of them ever since Bishop revealed part of his past to her. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of them were just caught in a rough place, trying to survive.

But she knew that if she gave into those thought, it would just take her down a slippery slope. Nothing was ever black and white, Master Therien made sure to teach her that from a young age, but many of her Stendarrite compatriots seemed to be of a different opinion. She valued his teachings, but it was hard not to get influenced by the other priests’ tales and experiences.

“They’re so… human-like. The dwelling, the pens… it’s… disturbing,” she sighed as they made their way towards the last chamber.

“They’re not people, princess,” Bishop scowled. The last thing she needed was sympathy for those monsters.

“I know… I just… do you think it’s… them? The elves? Do you think they’re the same people who…”

“You think they survived for thousands of years? I doubt that… not even powerful mages live that long…” he shrugged.

“Why are they in Dwemer ruins? I know there are stories of some alliance of the Dwemer and the Falmer, but I never heard about them… ‘moving in’,” Aeyrin pondered. There didn’t seem to be any passages that would indicate them getting there from some nearby cavern they occupied. Then again, they might just have been hidden like the one from which the Falmer surprised them the first time.

“Don’t know. People say that they live down in the deepest ruins. Maybe they just… found the ruins a long time ago. Took up residence like the bandits.”

She nodded. It sounded like the most likely explanation.

“Hey, how long do Bosmer live anyways. One never knows with you elves,” he smirked after a while. It seemed that their discussion on Falmer life spans made him wonder.

“I don’t know… two hundred on average I think. I met one who was three hundred and twenty years old in Leyawiin,” she shrugged. It was pointless to think about, her life was in constant danger anyways. Besides, not many people actually lived to ripe old age due to diseases, wars or other things.

“Fuck… You better not be planning to chase after young Nords after I croak,” he laughed but it didn’t have the effect he intended.

Aeyrin stopped in her tracks, staring at him in surprise. Did he just insinuate they’d be together until he dies? It wasn’t as if she was against the idea, but it seemed rather strangely… optimistic of him. And she definitely did not expect him to voice _that_ kind of commitment.

She never even thought about this stuff – their lives were so uncertain anyways.

He cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably when he realized what he just said.

“It… was a… joke…” he stammered, uncharacteristically flustered. He quickened his steps instantly and continued up the stairs into the chamber.

She mercifully didn’t say anything about it further.

That was… weird. He didn’t even think about it when he made that joke. He just assumed…

All he knew was that for a while now, he couldn’t really imagine anything else. He didn’t think about the future often, it was too uncertain, but anytime some thought crept into his mind, she was right there, at his side.

_Ugh! Enough of this mushy crap! You’re supposed to be plundering a Gods-damned Dwemer ruin._

“Wow! Look at this!” she interrupted the awkward silence, her hands deep in the rubble left of the giant automaton.

She carefully pulled out a spherical chunk of Dwemer metal with an odd red orb inside – it was glowing menacingly, emitting some sort of energy.

It didn’t seem to be harmful.

“That looks… weird. And valuable…” he took the orb from her and studied it curiously.

“Maybe the mages will know more,” she smiled, taking the orb back and placing it carefully in her pack.

They found some other strange contraptions but couldn’t figure out what those were for. There was an odd round platform with some holes on top, looking as if they could fit some sort of other mechanism. There was also a strange empty chest with a glass oval on top, swirling with colors.

They eventually took only the weapons and metal they found in the last chamber, ready to get back into the dark tunnel and make their way out.

…

“So… Winterhold?” Aeyrin smiled at him as they breathed the cold outside air, happy to leave the ruins behind for good.

“I guess. Ugh… mages… I hate mages,” Bishop grumbled with a smirk.

She raised her brow at him, shaking her head. She cleared her throat a second later, trying her hardest to imitate the worst Nordic accent she could manage: “All magic is evil! Kill the elves! Skyrim belongs to the Nords!”

He looked at her in surprise for a while, then he burst out laughing heartily.

“See? I told you the Shout was good practice for you.”

“So, why do you hate mages? Aside from the usual reasons of you just hating everyone?” she chuckled at him in response.

“What’s not to hate? All stuck-up, thinking they’re smarter than everyone else… And who the fuck wears dresses in knee deep snow?” he scoffed derisively.

“They’re robes…” she shook her head at him again.

“Call it whatever you want, they’re fucking stupid to wear up north. But… I guess it’s worth it for the enchantments…” he sighed.

After another second he looked her over, a mean smirk plastered on his face.

“I can’t wait to see how much you’ll enjoy the weather.”


	93. The Real North

How was he so giddy?

And how was he not freezing too? That fur couldn’t have been _that_ warm!

Aeyrin watched Karnwyr run around, frolicking in the snow, burying his muzzle deep into it and catching the snowflakes in his maw.

He really looked in his element.

Strange, since he was from the Rift.

He was probably just enjoying the change of scenery.

 _She_ was not.

There was snow as far as they eye could see. She thought it was bad around Windhelm, but it became increasingly obvious that she’s seen nothing yet.

It was snowing constantly, cold wind slashing into her face without ceasing. Her cheeks and nose were bright red from the frost, her teeth were always trying to chatter unless she forcefully stopped them. She huddled desperately into the warm white cloak she reclaimed from the ruins, trying to hide her face in it as much as she could.

“It’s only about a half hour journey at most, princess,” Bishop draped his arm across her shoulders and pressed her to him firmly with a reassuring smile.

They didn’t even rest on the journey – there wasn’t any place for it. Everything was covered in snow and it wasn’t really worth the hassle.

Winterhold wasn’t _that_ far from where the Dwemer structure where they emerged, but it was still several hours of journey. The nightfall was already steadily creeping in by the time they got even anywhere near the town.

They’ve been on high mountains before and in very cold places, but this was worse somehow. Maybe it was just the lack of action and fighting on the road. Or maybe it was the constant wind and snowfall.

She just wanted to thaw out by the fire already.

Bishop’s body squeezing her helped at least.

“You look so fucking cute like that,” he chuckled and planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head. That blush was always doing it for him, whether it was from cold, from being flustered or from embarrassment. It just reminded him of the sight of her flushed and breathless in his arms.

They couldn’t get to Winterhold fast enough.

…

Karnwyr started barking wildly just as they approach the inn. He suddenly ran off in a different direction altogether.

What _now_? They were almost inside by the warm fires.

The wolf ran towards a Breton man in bright purple robes. They were embroidered with white ornaments all over the edges – he was clearly from the College.

Karnwyr stopped right in front of him, growling and barking as if he was ready to attack. The man only gave him a curious look.

Bishop rushed over to them, leaving Aeyrin behind, ready to hold the wolf back. The last thing they needed was him attacking one of the mages. He didn’t even want to imagine the mess it would get them in.

Why was he freaking out like that?

Fuck, hopefully that wasn’t another vampire or something.

“Clever animal,” the Breton mage nodded approvingly.

“What?” Bishop knelt by the wolf and grabbed him by the fur behind his neck, just in case. Not that it would help if he _really_ wanted to attack, but it would at the very least signal him that he should calm down.

“I have just been working with residual essences of creatures that surpass temporary animation to determine the source of their irregular abilities. It turns out that the process is less stapled in conjuration techniques and more in Daedric transmutation of blood cells. They are in fact capable of eternal perpetual existence beyond the scope of a raised entity which may only rise on certain conditions, such as disturbances of their resting locations,” the man blabbered excitedly while he still watched Karnwyr with a measure of admiration.

What the fuck did all that mean?

Gods, it was starting already… skirt-wearing mages spewing some clever-sounding shit at him just so they could stroke their egos about how smart they were.

Bishop gave the man an annoyed level look, still holding the wolf at bay.

“Death hounds, my good man. They’re not raised dead like the draugr, they are vampiric in their core,” the man explained, rolling his eyes at him as if it was such a burden to simplify what he was saying.

“So you’ve been hanging around vampire dogs and you think he’s _clever_ for smelling that?” Bishop smirked at the man mockingly. Not that Karnwyr wasn’t clever and cunning beyond any wolf he’s ever met, but it certainly wasn’t because he could smell dead dogs…

Besides, that mage was annoying him already. He needed to be knocked down a peg.

The Breton smiled smugly, shaking his head at Bishop in condescension.

“He is clever for _not_ attacking. He has great control over his base instincts. Unlike any wild animal I have ever seen,” he turned his attention back to the wolf, studying him intently. “Hmm… young Nirya has taken an interest in wildlife lately. If you donate him for her research, I’m sure she’d part with some magical trinket or other in return,” he rubbed his fingers over his chin ponderingly.

‘Donate for research’? What the fuck was wrong with that man?

“Piss off, mage! And leave my wolf alone!” Bishop barked at him and dragged the wolf forcefully away.

…

Aeyrin shivered under the cloak, watching the two men and the wolf from afar.

Bishop seemed to have things under control, she just hoped Karnwyr didn’t freak out around that man because he was another vampire.

But he did the same around the Companions and they definitely weren’t vampires.

She wondered what prompted these reactions.

That man looked like a mage from afar though – he could have been doing some experiments before, working with whatever the wolf found unnatural and unsettling.

“What is such a rose doing out here in the cold?” a soft voice suddenly interrupted her pondering.

She snapped her head from the scene, looking over towards the tavern to locate the source of the voice.

A young man leaned over the railing of the inn porch, looking her over with an intrigued smile. He was wearing similar robes to the man that Bishop was currently preoccupied with – they were dark blue with silvery embroidery, very likely identifying him as one of the College mages.

“She’s freezing,” Aeyrin chuckled a little desperately in response.

She couldn’t wait for a warm meal and a bath. There was practically nothing else on her mind.

“My dear, why don’t you join me inside for a while? There’s no reason for you to suffer the cold out here,” he straightened up from the railing, gesturing towards the tavern door.

She smiled at him politely. He seemed nice and she really couldn’t wait to get inside. But Bishop would surely only take a minute and it seemed odd to just disappear while he chased after Karnwyr.

“I’m just waiting for…” she pointed her upturned thumb sideways towards the center of the town without even registering that her companions were already on their way back towards the tavern.

“Surely there’s no need for you to wait _here_ and freeze,” he chuckled at her.

Before she could answer, Bishop appeared at her back, draping his arm around her shoulder again.

“Sorry, princess. Fucking mages…” he grumbled in annoyance as the young man on the porch raised his brow at him somewhat disdainfully.

She bumped him with her elbow in his stomach lightly so that he would stop complaining about mages in front of the man. She really didn’t want to be part of his approach to antagonize anyone they met right away.

“Sorry… uhm…” she gave a wry smile to the mage.

“Darren, dear. Now, come. Leave the dogs outside and join me for a warm drink,” he folded his arms across his chest, the hint of contempt still etched on his face.

What in the Nirn was it about Bishop that made everyone so judgmental? Well… he _did_ just complain about all mages in general right in front of him, but still…

“The fuck did you just say, mage?”

She pressed her hand on Bishop’s chest immediately to hold him back but she still threw Darren a mean look. That was hardly convincing her to accept his invitation.

“Thank you, but I think I prefer the dogs,” she scoffed and laced her arm through Bishop’s while practically dragging him to the tavern. She ignored the mage and moved past him as he glared at them angrily.

…

“I just don’t get why being aggressive is always your first response to that…” she shook her head at Bishop while munching on the bread and the pleasantly scolding broth – finally some heat and food.

“What else would you want me to do? Trade insults with him while you freeze your ass off? How else are pricks like him gonna learn?” he scoffed in response and threw a mean glare back at the mage who was sitting at the other side of the tavern. He’s been doing that ever since Darren came back inside.

“As if I would wait and freeze while you did _that_. I’m not as fascinated by creative insults as you are,” she chuckled at him. “Besides, what’s he supposed to be learning? I don’t even get why he was trying to offend you… maybe he wouldn’t if you didn’t complain about mages right in front of them…” she pondered after a spell while throwing a brief contemplative glance towards Darren. She averted her eyes instantly when she noticed he was looking their way. It must have been so obvious now that they were talking about him.

“Are you fucking serious?” Bishop raised his brow at her, his smirk half exasperated and half amused. “You _cannot_ seriously be this clueless about this stuff!”

“What?”

“That wasn’t about _me_. That boy was obviously trying to chat you up, sweetness,” he chuckled at her lightly. She must have been doing this on purpose, there was no way that she wouldn’t notice his intentions – he was so obvious, even in the few seconds of their collective interaction.

“W-what? No he wasn’t. You say that about everybody,” she waved her hand dismissively, but an involuntary blush still crept up on her face. Darren did call her by some more ‘friendly’ names, but she was kind of used to that – a lot of people did that and most of them definitely didn’t have such intentions towards her.

“He was just being kind, then you show up and… bring it out in people. I don’t know why. Why is everyone we meet instantly trying to insult you? And you do it right back…” she laughed a bit but he merely threw her a skeptical look, shaking his head.

“No, he wanted to get you drunk on the pretenses that you need to ‘warm up’ just so he could show you his little ‘staff’ when your inhibitions are down,” Bishop smirked and took a swig of the local house-brewed ale smugly at the sight of her deepening blush.

“You’re awful! Not everyone has _that_ on their minds constantly!”

“See? Now it all makes sense! Everything you told me about the people at the temple ‘not tempting’ the priests and shit. You just didn’t know what was happening. You obviously can’t tell when someone wants you,” he laughed heartily.

Well… it wasn’t as if she was never accused of _that_. But she still very much doubted that it was the case that often.

“No, you just keep convincing yourself that everyone has a gutter mind like yours so that you feel better about yourself,” she giggled, her cheeks still flushed.

He shook his head with a smirk. It wasn’t as if he minded – the naïve hopefulness that people were actually better than they really were was part of her charm. And besides, the fact that she didn’t notice just how many men were actually slobbering after her was only good for him – this way she didn’t get curious about their affections. Not that he’d ever let anyone threaten what they had together, but still, it was easier this way. It was annoying enough how often he found himself get pissed off just by someone checking her out.

“How did you even notice I wanted you? You _did_ notice, right? For the record, I do. In case that wasn’t obvious from how many times I’ve had you wrapped around me like a tight…”

“Bishop!” she bit her lower lip, flushing deeply. She looked over the room to see if someone had overheard their conversation instantly.

He smirked at her victoriously. It’s been a while since he flustered her like this. She wasn’t that self-conscious about these things out in the wilderness. Not that she didn’t blush _every_ time the topics of their conversations got more intimate, but she rarely stopped him in admonishment anymore.

“I _did_ notice, just so you know. You were hardly ever subtle!”

Bishop grinned at her unapologetically. Neither was that mage, but whatever. Not like it would do him any good.

“Well… I’m gonna go take a bath. And I bet you that the magey over there tries to chat you up again the second I leave,” his smirked widened, if that were even possible, and he got up from the table.

“Just so you know, only talking doesn’t count…” she grumbled at him while he leaned down towards her head briefly.

He teasingly nipped at tip of her ear with a satisfied chuckle before whispering to her in a low voice: “The usual stakes, sweetness.”

Gods, that blush would never disappear now.

…

True to Bishop’s suspicions, Darren approached her table almost immediately once he was gone.

He sat down on Bishop’s chair and sighed with a wry smile.

“My dear, I wanted to apologize for the… offence. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. I assure you, ordinarily I do not stoop to such levels,” he gave her a hopeful look, brushing his blonde hair back from his eyes.

“Umm… it’s fine. But… maybe you should apologize to my companion instead of me…” she shrugged at him. Damned Bishop! Now everything Darren said made her suspicious of his intentions. This is _exactly_ why she hated assuming these things of people.

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t be interested in that. I was just worried you would think less of me. Not many new interesting people come by here. I’ve been stuck in this tavern for days now, desperate for a conversation with… _other_ people,” he inclined his head backwards subtly towards the innkeeper.

Well… it wasn’t Bishop and it wasn’t her. He just seemed judgmental in general. She wasn’t sure if it was the better or the worse option.

But he _did_ look like he was from the College – maybe he could tell her more about it before they visited there.

“Stuck? Why are you stuck here?” she looked at him curiously. She decided it was best to ignore his disdainful looks for now.

“Because, dear, these close-minded villagers would get frightened of a simple familiar, let alone a clannfear! I got suspended for an entire month from the College, just because the villagers have never seen a mage of skill at work,” he shook his head with another scoff. Oddly enough, he looked a little smug at the same time.

“You… summoned a clannfear in front of the townspeople?” her brows creased. She’s never seen one, but summoning any Daedra without protection in the middle of a populated area was likely a very bad idea. No wonder he got suspended. She was surprised he didn’t get arrested.

“It was amazing, my dear! Phinis has peddled the transcription of the spell from a travelling scholar and _I_ was the only one of his students brave enough to attempt its casting. It went flawlessly but those fools got scared and got the guards involved…” he shook his head disapprovingly but that smug expression was still plastered on his face.

“I… uh… see. So… you study conjuration at the College?” she changed the topic, lest any further questions about the incident made her even more disheartened at his character. She just wanted to hear about the College.

“Conjuration and illusion. The more refined schools of magic. After all, any child can make some sparks and fires. And don’t even get me started on the pointlessness of playing with rocks or tending to some scratches. A proficient mage never gets wounded anyways…”

_Wow…_

Well he definitely wasn’t interested in her in the way Bishop suggested. He didn’t seem to be interested in anyone but himself. She realized he didn’t even ask her name or anything about her this whole time. His condescending tone made her so oddly uncomfortable though. He was the type of person who would normally get her pretty riled up and angry, but for some reason, she only felt oddly judged and flustered.

“S-so… the College teaches all these disciplines to people?” she tried to get some useful information out of him still.

“To capable mages only, dear, of course. We couldn’t let the uneducated masses threaten us with unmonitored magic,” he chuckled haughtily.

_You’re one to talk…_

“But if you’d like a tour of the College, I’m sure I could arrange that for you. I am very valued there. Besides, I know all the best places to see there. And the most private ones…” he gave her a meaningful wink.

Wait, did he mean…? Surely not. He was just showing off for some reason.

“Weren’t you suspended?” she raised her brow at him skeptically.

“I… well… yes, but… It was just a formality… I am sure they would do just about anything for me. They don’t usually let curious travelers in, you know? You have to prove to be magically gifted to enter, but I can arrange things for you. _Not_ for your… companion though. It will just have to be the two of us,” he gave her a sly smile.

Gods, she couldn’t stop analyzing every word and gesture he made. She kind of preferred being clueless about these things, at least she didn’t have to scrutinize the people she was talking to so intently.

She did get kind of conflicted though. Was he serious or was he exaggerating for all his posturing? Did they really not let people in unless they were proficient mages? The same was true for the Arcane University after all.

And did all of them scoff at restoration magic? If not, maybe her skill would be deemed good enough.

She didn’t want to leave Bishop behind in any case. Who knew how long she’d be there – she wanted to see what lore they had on dragons, Dragonborn and Talos. And she wanted to learn more powerful healing spells.

Even if at times he was only complaining and grumbling, she still wanted him around, to hear his input anyways. It was nice having him experience these things alongside her.

They’ve gotten so used to spending every second together. And even now… she missed him a little. He was only in the basement and she missed him.

It was still both exciting and scary.

“I’m… not sure if that’s a good idea. There’s no need to go out of your way for me…” she gave Darren a weak smile. Besides, she never even told him she wanted to visit the College. Why would he just assume that? She certainly didn’t look like a mage.

“My dear, I am certain you are worth it,” he winked again.

He didn’t even know her name!

Bishop finally emerged from the stairs leading into the basement and the baths. A smirk appeared on his face immediately when he noticed the mage at their table.

 _Dammit_.

Now he would definitely insists that he was right and that he won the bet.

So annoying…

Or was it exciting? She flushed just at the thought of what would eventually come.

Bishop grabbed a chair from one of the other tables, since Darren took his seat. He planted it very close to Aeyrin pointedly and draped his arm over her shoulder. After a second he gave the mage an expectant look.

It was pretty amusing how obviously he tried to ‘mark his territory’.

She didn’t mind. She understood how easy it was to get insecure or succumb to jealousy – not that he’d ever admit that.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she was hiding their relationship from the mage anyways.

“Did you lose already?” he chuckled quietly, leaning towards her ear.

“I don’t know, shush,” she nudged him with her elbow and bit down on her lower lip.

It seemed like Darren was trying to seduce her somehow, but she still wasn’t exactly sure of it. Half the time it sounded more like he wanted to insult her.

“I was really hoping we’d get to talk some more without this… whatever, dear,” he gestured towards Bishop contemptfully, purposefully avoiding voicing the insult. Surprisingly enough, it exuded even more disgust than before.

He _just_ apologized for that! Did he think she was stupid? That she would just take this whole performance in stride?

“I’m not sure why we can’t all talk, Darren,” she gave him an innocent smile. For some reason, she was getting eager for him to voice whether he was actually trying to lure her away from Bishop.

Why would she be eager? She hated that kind of unwanted attention.

Was she really that excited about the bet?

“My dear, I’m not sure he’d enjoy the conversation. I’m not even sure he can understand us…” Darren chuckled meanly and waved his hand in front of Bishop’s face as if he was trying to see whether he was capable of any thought whatsoever.

_Wow…_

Bishop didn’t seem angry. In fact, he smiled. Rather conspiratorially. He looked over Aeyrin briefly with a smug smirk again. What was he planning?

“Alright, magey, let’s get this over with. You wanna fuck her? It’s fine. She’s up for it and I don’t mind,” he nodded with a stony expression, eliciting an incredulous gasp from Aeyrin. She was left with her mouth ajar in shock.

What in Oblivion was he doing?!

“I… wha-… I mean…” Darren stared at him in similar shock, but then he shook his head briskly, as if riling himself up from a delirium. His eyes went to Aeyrin a second later – he didn’t even register her confusion, his eyes went straight towards her cleavage, a disturbingly lecherous look on his face.

“Sure! Let’s go, dear!” he got up from the table quickly and extended his hand towards the flabbergasted elf.

“Hah! See?” Bishop smirked victoriously. He promptly turned his eyes towards the mage, narrowing them dangerously. “Dream on, magey. I wasn’t serious. Now piss off and stop leering at my girl!”

Aeyrin flushed crimson red. She wasn’t certain if she was embarrassed, shocked or… a little excited. For some reason, there was always that little jolt of electricity coursing through her whenever he called her _his._ And it was obvious now how eager he was for the bet to be settled so that they could turn to… settling debts.

It was still so embarrassing though! No matter the intentions beneath. Did he really have to be this abrasive?

Darren stared at Bishop in utter disbelief.

Although it was hard feeling sorry for him – he didn’t even acknowledge her presence through the exchange, or wonder if she was really ‘up for it’. How was he not disturbed by such an offer in the slightest?!

After a while Darren scoffed in disgust, turning to Aeyrin.

“Dear, let us get away from this repulsive barbarian. His distasteful jokes are sure to entertain the local masses much more than us,” yet again he outstretched his hand towards her expectantly, pointedly averting his gaze from Bishop’s amused scoff.

“Uhh… no,” she gave him an uneasy look. Not that Bishop’s strange joke was appropriate or endearing in any way, but how could that man still think she found him in the least bit preferable after how he’s been behaving the entire time?

“I told you to piss off already, mage,” Bishop growled at him impatiently.

“Absolutely not. I am getting tired of dealing with you, imbecile. You obviously don’t know how dangerous it is to anger a mage of my caliber,” Darren clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing in utter disdain.

Bishop laughed at him dismissively in response. He did not look even a little fazed.

“You think I’m joking? Let us go settle our differences outside. The one left standing gets the prize,” Darren nodded confidently, pointedly inclining his head towards Aeyrin.

_WHAT?!!!_

“I’m sorry, do _I_ get a say in it?!” she gave him the best disgusted look she could muster – not that it was hard to pull off after _that._

“Well, you definitely _are_ getting punched now,” Bishop spat at him and stood up from his chair too.

The patrons in the tavern started to look their way curiously, some of them whispering to themselves in excitement.

Gods, not _this_ again…

“I am not afraid of you, mongrel! And I will gladly show all these simpletons right here why you shouldn’t mess with a mage,” Darren growled angrily, his fists still clenched.

Aeyrin stood up too. The man was infuriating her, but this was _not_ the way to deal with him. She raised her hands at them in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

Why couldn’t he just leave them alone in the first place? Did he not get that his advances were unwanted? To be fair, she still wasn’t even sure that he was interested in her in any way aside from having her as some sort of trophy of his superiority over Bishop and whoever else made him feel insecure.

“That’s enough! Darren, just please leave us alone and nobody needs to get hurt,” she scowled at the mage admonishingly.

“You will regret antagonizing me, dog!” he yelled at Bishop again, ignoring her completely.

He didn’t even look at her when she was talking. This was infuriating!

Darren raised his hand threateningly as his clenched fist turned into a splayed palm in a matter of a single second, alit with a menacing red light.

Was he really attacking? She was worried about a brawl, but _this_?!

Instincts and anger took over. Bishop lunged at the man instantly but she was closer. He didn’t even manage to get past the table separating them before her fist connected with the mage’s face firmly.

The magic dissipated and Darren yelled out in pain, clutching his nose with both hands.

Some of the patrons erupted in cheers and laughter while the innkeeper’s wife rushed over to them.

Bishop stared at Aeyrin at first with shock in his eyes, a second later with a measure of amusement and admiration. He did _not_ expect her to resort to violence, but the mage did try to attack.

It was really getting him worked up though. The way her eyes got all intense and fiery, the anger barely contained… Fuck, he wanted to take her right there and then.

“This is the last straw, mage! I told you to keep your foul spells away from our tavern and our patrons!” the innkeeper’s wife yelled at Darren angrily and started to drag him by the elbow away from them. “Do not set your foot here _ever_ again!”

The mage was forcefully thrown out of the inn, despite his muffled protests from under his clutched nose.

Aeyrin turned to look at Bishop – he had an intense look in his eyes, staring at her with a roguish smile across his face.

She got flustered all over again under his gaze, biting her lip nervously. The exchange did get her blood pumping somewhat. As angered as she still was, the familiar exciting trepidation took over again as she started to imagine what he had in store for her. She could still argue that Darren was interested more in stroking his fractured ego than anything _she_ had to offer, but she didn’t really want to.

Bishop leaned in after a while, his voice husky as he whispered in her ear: “Go down the basement and get yourself a bath, princess.”

Well, she did not expect _that_ to be the first thing he asked her to do. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t a bit filthy from the long road to Winterhold, but he usually wasn’t one to mind.

She gave him a curious look.

“Come on, you lost. It’s an order,” he smirked at her and inclined his head towards the stairs behind the bar.

She turned on her heel without another word, heading towards the bathing room.

…

The basement was filled with several beds.

She didn’t think people actually slept there!

There was a large tank at the back of the room, likely used for the house-made ale. There were other brewing contraptions around it, bubbling constantly and making the occasional loud clanking sounds.

How could anyone sleep in all that noise?

She located the door leading to the bathing area.

It was so small – there was only one wooden tub set into the ground but steam was still coming out of it. It looked really tempting, even if she imagined doing something else by now.

She didn’t even start getting her clothes off when the door behind her swung open, startling her.

Bishop closed the door behind him and leaned on the stone wall with the same intense hungry look he wore when she left him, watching her expectantly.


	94. Keeping Warm

_ Author’s Note _

_So… yeap, it’s another horribly cheesy and badly written smut chapter :D This is all awful smut, all of it. There’s no proper introspection and no development to the story, so if you’re not into this, feel free to skip the entire chapter, you won’t miss anything :)_

_Otherwise… well, enjoy, I guess :D (I honestly still dread posting these :’( )_

_And happy belated Valentine’s Day <_ _3_

_Oh and please read the kink warnings at the bottom, if you think you should._

* * *

* “Well… what are you waiting for?”

Bishop kept leaning on the wall, watching her intently.

“W-what if someone comes in?” Aeyrin flushed at his constant stare and heat covered her whole body as if on command.

“Way ahead of you, princess,” he smirked and looked over the ground, locating a moldered wooden doorstop. He picked it up and lodged it firmly below the bathing room door. “No one will be able to hear a thing over that racket in the other room. You can relax completely. So start stripping already,” he chuckled at her, taking back his position by the wall.

She bit her lower lip and turned her back to him. She wasn’t even sure anymore if she did it because she felt scrutinized or because she thought it would tease him more. She kept imagining the look in his eyes as she slowly hooked her hands under her shirt and draped it over her head.

She wasn’t sure what he was expecting of her – he’s seen her naked a thousand times before. But there was such strange tension in the air just then. Even this seemed exciting.

She turned around slowly and gave him a demure smile as his eyes lowered towards her breasts with a hungry look.

She turned back around a second later, bending over to undo her boots. She could almost feel the pleased smirk on his face at the back of her head. She kicked off her boots and straightened up, hooking her hands behind the hem of her trousers. She slid them down slowly and bent over again to take them off completely, leaving her only in her smallclothes.

A pleased low growl of approval escaped his lips. She couldn’t help but smile to herself at that sound.

She slid her hands under her undergarments a while later, taking them off slowly too. She turned around after she straightened up. Her cheeks flushed from the appraising look he was giving her and while standing completely still, she clasped her hands behind her back to fight the urge to cover herself, waiting for his next instructions.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes slowly roving over her. Then he inclined his head towards the bathing tub while he still leaned against the wall, watching her.

She stepped back towards the door first and located the pack she left right next to it, trying her hardest to appear casual under his constant stares. She fished around for her washrags, soap and the lotion for her hair.

She entered the tub slowly, easing into the scalding water. She tried to look like she wasn’t paying any attention to him – she wasn’t really certain what else to do in that moment, but she found herself unable to manage that, constantly looking over at him to see whether he was watching her. That smoldering look on his face made her even more heated than the water.

She started to wash herself slowly, her skin steadily turning red and overly sensitive from the heat. She kept glancing over to him, as if to see whether he would ask her for something else, but he seemed content to just watch her. For now.

His eyes mapped every inch of her as the soaped up rag glided along her wet body. The sloshing water obstructed his view somewhat, but that would soon be easily rectified. Her pitch-black eyes looked up at him every so often, her face bright red, the anticipation and the nervous excitement palpable on it. She didn’t say a word the entire time, letting the tension thicken in the small bathing room.

After some time, she set the lathered washcloth back on the wooden boards around the tub and smoothed out the wet hair against her scalp.

She looked up at him again in anticipation. She kind of expected him to join her by now. He seemed ready to pounce on her the entire time. Not that she would complain, she was worked up enough as it was.

She wasn’t going to make a move though, or ask him to come to her. She didn’t want to ruin the odd anticipation, and she knew all too well it only made the eventual release better.

“Get out of the water, sit on the edge,” he commanded her after another while of incessant scrutiny, his voice temptingly low and somewhat strained.

She looked at him a little surprised, pondering on what he was planning. She obeyed without a word though, determined not to disrupt the dynamic. She had no idea why it excited her so much that she had to do exactly what he said. She knew she didn’t exactly _have to_ ¸ but still…

She pulled herself up onto the edge of the tub, letting her feet dangle in the hot water. The contrast of temperatures sent goose bumps all over her body.

A roguish smirk decorated his face as he looked her over up and down several more times. It was beyond her how he could be fine with just looking at her for so long. She knew _she_ wanted him to go to her already. To take her hard and rough right there on that bathing room floor.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

Her eyes went wide at the request, the slowly subsiding blush returned to her face in a second, now even deeper crimson.

“And don’t even try to tell me that you’ve never done that. Not like I’ll believe you…” he chuckled, looking at her expectantly.

She bit her lower lip shyly. It wasn’t that she’s _never_ tried that. But now she was convinced she’s been doing something wrong before. It definitely didn’t feel the same as when he touched her. And it’s definitely never been that… effective.

She lowered her eyes, trying hard not to look at him. How was it that he could still make her so nervous even after everything they’ve done together? She kind of loved that – the tingling clenching feeling in her stomach, the way all the nerves in her body reacted.

She took a deep breath and slowly ran one of her hands over her collarbone, still avoiding eye contact.

He watched the trepidation in her touch as she moved her hand lower after a while, stroking gently over her own breast, squeezing it mildly on occasion. The remaining drops of the previously hot water still traveled down the tempting curves of her body. He watched several of them disappear in between her breasts when both her hands started to knead them and squeeze them together. Her eyes finally looked up at him and an uncertain nervous expression was etched on her face.

He snuck his hand into the fabric of his clothes and grabbed his own cock, stroking himself at the sight of her. A loud satisfied groan escaped his lips, signaling his approval of her ministrations.

She kept one hand on her breast as her treatment of it got a bit more insistent and excited. Her other hand slowly slid down her belly, moving towards the folds of her wetness.

She slid one of her fingers over her slit, slowly but surely getting more and more caught up in the sensations – the soft touch of her fingers, the strained grunts Bishop let out at her every move, the excited jolts coursing through her when she moved her finger lower, teasing herself over the bundle of nerves between her legs.

She whimpered lightly, rubbing herself a little faster. Her head tilted back and she closed her eyes, the wetness between her legs staining her fingers.

“Look at me,” Bishop grunted, palming himself below the fabric of his clothes a little more aggressively now.

She forced herself to lean her head back down and opened her eyes. The look in his own… it made her even more excited. She slid another finger inside herself, moaning, moving them in and out slowly. She couldn’t help but imagine his fingers in her instead – the rough callous of his hands, the force and strength of his motions. Gods, how she wanted him to take her already!

She still held eye contact with him like he told her, pressing her fingers tighter against her slit, slipping them as deep as she could in her position.

A powerful quiver coursed through her when she reached her peak. She moaned loudly again and her eyes closed briefly, her back arching while Bishop’s groans of pleasure became even more frequent.

She withdrew her hand, breathing heavily, watching him for a while as he kept on touching himself.

“Come… here…” he grunted, leaning on the wall firmly to steady himself.

She hopped into the water instantly and waded through the tub to get to the small wooden steps leading out of it. It was still scolding hot. How was it always the same temperature? It must have been some magical trick.

Another smirk graced his face when he groaned again. He stopped her before she managed to get out of the water entirely.

“On all fours, sweetness.”

The corners of her mouth quirked up involuntarily and she slowed her movement, crawling out of the tub towards him.

He withdrew his hand from himself and untangled the fastening of his trousers, watching her, enraptured. Fuck, what a sight. Her eyes looked up at him eagerly when he freed his cock from his trousers. She opened her mouth immediately and enclosed it around the tip of him, sucking in, running the tip of her tongue over it teasingly.

“Hhng… fuck!” he groaned as his knees buckled a bit.

She took him deeper in and folded her legs under herself, her hands running up his thighs. Her eyes still occasionally darted up to him, her head bobbing in and out.

“Deeper,” he managed to communicate in between his low moans. She obeyed, taking him deeper into her mouth. Her body jerked a little in recoil when his hard cock hit the back of her throat. She adjusted herself as quickly as she could, feeling him twitch and throb intensely inside her. She could tell he was getting close.

She moved one of her hands between his legs, gently cupping his balls. He groaned loudly and threw his head back in response. “Swa- hhng…” he tried to command her again but the word ended up intelligible, lost in his groaning. She knew what he was going to ask her to do anyways.

She was kind of getting used to this. It was easier when she knew what to expect. She felt him twitch again and braced herself. She withdrew a little but still kept him inside her mouth.

He came inside her with a loud moan, the relief and satisfaction etched all over his face. She did her best to swallow meticulously but despite her anticipation she still startled a little, forced to let some of his seed leak out of her mouth and stain her chin.

He tried to steady his heavy breathing. The sight of her below him, her chest heaving, cheeks flushed bright red, fingers lightly gliding along her face to clean the remains of his seed from her, filled his mind with tons of other fun ideas already.

He sank down to the ground by her side as their mutual loud breathing echoed through the room. She moved closer to him and cuddled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder for a spell. He closed his eyes for a while and enjoyed the feel of her heated body on his. His hand snuck around her back to cup her breast lazily.

A second later he felt her soft lips on the side of his neck, her hand gently teasing over his lower abdomen. She still wanted him inside her, her body was already impatient for another release.

He chuckled at her eagerness and squeezed her breast firmly, playing with her hard nipple. “Are you up for another round already, princess?”

“Are _you_?” she chuckled and moved her hand between his legs, her fingers encircling his spent cock.

He grunted at her touch again and gave her a pleased smirk: “You go on like this, it won’t take long.”

They cuddled together for a while longer then until their lazy touches gradually turned more and more insistent and frantic.

Soon enough Aeyrin removed the rest of Bishop’s clothing and they both ended up rolling over the wooden planks around the tub in a tight embrace, their lips never leaving one another, their hands constantly exploring each other.

Bishop’s fingers entered her wetness, thrusting in roughly while his thumb rubbed over her clit. Gods, how she needed that! It felt so different when he did it.

She writhed under his touch, but he didn’t let her enjoy it for long. After a while he disentangled himself from her and stood up abruptly. His hungry eyes roved over her body that was still splayed down on the ground.

He outstretched his hand towards her and yanked her up when she took it, leaving her to collide with his form with a surprised yelp.

His hands landed on her buttocks with a loud slap, eliciting another yelp from her. He snickered at her and bent down slightly to move his hands lower over her upper thighs. She instinctively jumped into his grip and wrapped her legs around his waist firmly. His cock was already hard again, poking teasingly between her legs.

Their lips met again in a passionate kiss. His tongue probed her mouth deeply while he took a few long strides across the small room, carrying her towards the back wall. He pressed her against it firmly and readjusted her in his grip.

The cold stone of the wall sent shivers across her spine, making her arch her back in surprise. He didn’t waste any time and let the tip of his cock enter her eager wetness. She let out a loud moan at the contact, the need palpable in her face.

But he didn’t move further, his strong grip on her legs did not allow her any initiative either.

“Say it, princess,” he grinned, whispering in her ear. His tongue teasingly ran over her neck a second later.

Well… she was still supposed to do what he said. And she _really_ needed him.

“Please, fuck me,” she bit her lower lip. She didn’t get why he was so intent on this. She always got so embarrassed by talking like that. She _did_ enjoy the incessant teasing though, no matter how frustrating. And the sound of his voice when he commanded her like that… Divines, how she loved that.

He thrusted up inside her deeply, her own arousal allowing him to slip inside her fully with ease. She moaned out loudly, her walls clenching around him in a tight grip, her body quivering under his hard thrusts.

He kept his hands on her thighs, digging his fingers into her skin. She entangled one of her hands in his hair and grabbed firmly. The other hand dug into his back and her fingernails started to scratch into his skin involuntarily when he hit the perfect spot deep inside her, making her cry out with each powerful thrust.

It didn’t take long for her to arch her back again, digging her nails deeper, moaning in ecstasy.

He sped up his movements, thrusting into her wildly, grunting with both effort and excitement.

She clenched around him as her whole body pulsated uncontrollably. He bit into her neck, his cock buried deep inside her, and exploded with another loud grunt let out against her skin.

Her feet heavily hit the ground when he let go of her. They both collapsed onto each other and tried to support their collective weight, breathing heavily.

They turned back to the lazy touches again. He stroked through her hair with a satisfied smile on his face, his other hand gently rubbed over her backside. His back sort of burned – her nails must have left some marks. Not that he minded. Just the thought of how passionate she got there was making him eager to continue their exploits even longer. He was pretty sure that he still had it in him to prolong their evening.

Especially with the way her breasts pressed firmly against his torso as her hands roamed over his back slowly.

It took some time but after a while, she could feel him gradually harden again against her wandering hands. This was turning out to be a really memorable night. Not that every night they spent together wasn’t rather memorable, but this…

She already felt some exhaustion creep into her body, but she wouldn’t let that get in the way. She wasn’t ready for it to end yet.

He turned her around and pressed her body against the wall, eliciting a surprised gasp from her as her breasts flattened against the cold stone.

She felt him on her back, his lips right by her ear, his hot breath tickling her tantalizingly. His hands ran over her shoulders and arms and his teeth nipped into her neck, gradually working their way up to her ear again.

“Sweetness…” he breathed out against her, “you up for something new?”

She could almost feel the wicked smirk splayed over his face. She wasn’t sure what he was planning, her mind swirling with various thoughts on what he could mean. She nodded with a low moan as she felt his hand slide down her back, across her buttocks and lower between her legs. His fingers teased her gently while she spread them apart more to give him better access.

His digits entered her briefly, making a few deep thrusts inside her wet tunnel before he withdrew from her. He started to rub them over her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body again.

He moved his thumb over her puckered hole after a while and pressed against it gently. It was a strange feeling when he first did that, but she got used to it rather quickly, the odd sensation was now quite enjoyable.

He groaned and leaned against the side of her face again. She felt the tip of his tongue probe her ear, eliciting a high-pitched gasp from her. “Stay right here, princess. Don’t look,” he rumbled in a low voice and a second later the heat of his body left her back.

She waged an internal battle between her curiosity and her desire to revel in the anticipation. In the end she obeyed again and left her eyes firmly planted on the stone wall, her body pressed against it, her legs spread apart. She felt oddly exposed like that but she was _not_ going to move.

She felt him behind her again only a little while later, his breath right back on her ear.

“Tell me if it’s too much, alright?” his voice was surprisingly gentle.

Now she was _really_ interested in what he was planning.

She felt his fingers between her legs again. This time there was something very cold and slick on them. What was that? He ran them through her slit, teasing at the entrance to her wetness for a little while.

After a bit he moved higher again, rubbing the odd substance around her other hole.

His wetted finger pressed firmly against her there, slowly entering her. She let out a loud gasp and a groan, clenching around him instantly. If she thought the teasing felt strange before, this was on a whole new level. It made he feel so full… but it definitely didn’t feel bad.

The knuckle of his finger ran over her skin while the rest of it probed inside her, eliciting soft whimpers from her.

He still felt her clench him so tightly. Fuck, he wanted to be inside her so bad. She needed to relax a little first. He started to languidly kiss her on the side of her neck, wiggling his finger inside her and pressing it deeper in. She let out another groan. He wasn’t really sure yet whether she was enjoying this but she didn’t tell him to stop. Not like she wouldn’t, if she actually didn’t enjoy it.

He continued his ministrations for a while, slowly feeling her relax around him. Her groans were starting to even sound a lot more excited. He pressed another finger inside her, earning a stammered gasp from her. Her hand was splayed on the stone wall, grasping and pressing into it as if she was trying to grip it firmly to steady herself.

“You want me to stop, sweetness?” he whispered in her ear again. Though he suspected he knew the answer already. Her body was writhing incessantly and she seemed to be pressing the side of her face against the cold stone harder.

“No!” she yelped out as he barely managed to finish the question. The eagerness seemed to surprise even her.

He kept thrusting his fingers tantalizingly slowly in and out of her as the sensations turned more and more pleasurable. She was slick all over from the unidentified substance he rubbed into her, allowing him to quicken his movements inside her.

His hard cock kept poking into her skin from behind whenever he moved. It was obvious he was already in need. His fingers inside her started to spread her apart slowly, occasionally sending a sting of mild pain through her.

It didn’t really hinder her excitement though, although she was starting to wonder how far he was intending to take this kind of play. She was pretty sure she couldn’t take him in like that…

Not that she wasn’t… _a little_ curious if that was actually true…

His other hand snaked around her waist and lowering towards her slit instantly, teasing her again. A loud moan escaped her in response. It felt like it was impossible for her body to heat up any more. She gasped under every single one of his movements. His fingers were rubbing over her slit incessantly while he still kept spreading her apart, curling his fingers inside her on occasion.

After a while of that treatment, she felt him shift. Both trepidation and curious excitement coursed through her when his hand moved from her slit to her backside. He held her spread out for him and pressed the head of his cock against her puckered entrance.

She held her breath, waiting for him to continue. She considered for a brief second if she should tell him to stop, but she dismissed that thought soon enough. She was already too worked up to be able to.

“You alright, sweetness? It might hurt a bit…” his voice was gentle and caring again and he planted a rather chaste brief kiss at the side of her neck.

She nodded again, determined to let her curiosity win over any previous concerns.

He started to push himself inside her firmly as a somewhat uncomfortable pressure spread through her entire lower half.

A sting of pain ran through her when he pressed past her ring and the head of his cock embedded itself inside her. She cried out and clenched around him involuntarily. All her muscles tautened and small tears sprang into her eyes automatically.

He placed a soothing kiss into the hair on the back of her head and instantly returned his hand to tease her between her legs with renewed purpose. The pleasurable sensations started to gradually win over any initial discomfort.

A while later she started to gasp and moan in excitement. It was much easier than she thought to get used to the new sensations.

He took the opportunity to push further inside her, filling her up intensely. She groaned again. She felt so… stuffed. But it barely hurt anymore. The teasing was definitely distracting her from any unpleasant sensations she felt, replacing them with the familiar buildup steadily. She was kind of starting to want him to thrust into her, eager to move on to the more frantic and overwhelming treatment of their bodies. She was sure she could handle it now.

She turned her head back slightly and looked at him. He gave her a rather concerned questioning look but she only nodded in response.

With a pleased smirk he pressed further into her, burying his entire length inside as she let out a loud cry. She pressed the palms of her hands firmly against the stone wall and braced herself for his thrusts. He kept rubbing over her eager nub, sending jolts of electricity though her.

He started slowly, gradually making her more and more accustomed to the feelings until his movements turned faster and harder.

She let out a moan with every thrust – she was starting to feel something so arousing about all this. It got a little uncomfortable at times but not enough to dampen her excitement. The feel of his fingers teasing her, his deep low satisfied grunts ringing in her ears, his movements pushing her more and more firmly against the wall and the feeling of him filling her so intensely, it all made her heart race at an insane rate.

Soon enough she felt like she could barely stand. Her legs were hopelessly weak. His teasing got more aggressive with each second, bringing her over the edge. A powerful shock went through her and she felt her whole body clench as her back arched, the side of her head pressed hard against the cold stone.

Fuck, that did it. She tightened herself around him so firmly he felt himself explode in an instant, letting out a long moan right by her ear.

She mewled under him weakly. Her legs were now definitely unable to hold her up. His arms wrapped around her stomach as if he knew she couldn’t support herself any longer. He squeezed her to him tightly, his cock still buried inside her as the last vestiges of their climax ebbed away.

He finally slipped out of her and she practically collapsed against him. He didn’t seem any more ready to hold the both of them up though.

They ended up sitting on the floor, their heaving bodies curled up and entangled with each other.

“Fuck… that was fucking amazing, princess…” he chuckled weakly and clutched her close to him. She smiled at him in turn when he looked at her and studied her face curiously. “You liked that?” he smirked and let his fingers brush her hair from her face gently.

“Y-yeah…” she blushed, biting her lower lip. He looked really pleased with that answer. “I don’t think I can walk though…” she giggled slightly.

He laughed and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m sure we’ll manage to get out of here somehow… eventually.”

.

_* Kink warning: obeying commands (consensual), anal sex_


	95. A Place of Learning

The College of Winterhold towered above the frozen see with enigmatic allure.

If what Darren said was right, they likely wouldn’t be allowed in at all. But obviously, anything he said had to be taken with a pinch of salt.

It was definitely worth a shot.

“Look at it… still standing while the rest of the city fell into the see. That’s not suspicious at all…” Bishop smirked while he peered at the complex perching on a tall cliff behind a long stone bridge.

“You think the mages are to blame?” Aeyrin turned to him. She’s read about the fall of Winterhold, but no mention of the mages’ culpability was implied.

“Who else would be capable of that?” he scoffed in response. At times, he really reminded her a little bit of the ‘true sons of Skyrim’ blaming everything bad on the Nirn on magic.

“Nature?” she smirked. It was a city on a cliff surrounded by a raging sea. Stuff happened…

“And nature left the College standing by a sheer coincidence?” he shook his head skeptically.

“Maybe the mages protected it. Doesn’t mean they caused it…”

“Whatever… let’s just go deal with the pompous gits. Hopefully they’ll have some useful information for us at least,” Bishop shrugged with a scowl. He stopped arguing rather quickly. And he didn’t even try to call her naïve.

Hah! She won!

They approached the bridge, barred by a large metal gate. There was a symbol decorating the upper bars – an eye with odd spikes protruding from it. Behind the gate stood a tall Altmer woman with wild curly rose-gold hair, clad in bright red robes with golden embroidery. She was leaning on the stone arch with a bored expression on her face.

Aeyrin cleared her throat, snapping her attention towards them.

“Ah! Visitors. That doesn’t happen often…” the woman approached the gate which opened for her as if on command – it didn’t seem as if she cast any spell to do it. That was a rather impressive sight. “What brings you here?” she folded her arms across her chest, looking them both over with interest.

“We’re here to see the College… we’re interested in some lore you might have available and perhaps use your enchanting services. And I’d like to better my magic skills,” Aeyrin smiled at her kindly. She really hoped that Darren was exaggerating.

The Altmer gave her a skeptical look, then turned her attention to Bishop. She tilted her head on one side, then another as if deciding whether she believed them. “Are you both mages?” she narrowed her eyes at Bishop.

“Fu…” before he could let it out, Aeyrin dug her nails into the back of his arm as inconspicuously as she could and stopped him before he started to antagonize mages again.

“Not me…” he grumbled instead. That was surprisingly obedient.

The Altmer started to ignore Bishop promptly and turned her attention back to Aeyrin. “What school are you proficient in?” she asked expectantly.

“Restoration,” Aeyrin nodded. She hoped the woman’s opinions didn’t mirror Darren’s.

The mage rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. She took a step back and her hand suddenly lit with flickering fire.

“Ward!” she commanded with the fiery spell aimed at Aeyrin. It left her hand almost instantly, hurling towards her.

Aeyrin jumped out of the way swiftly on instinct. The fire shot through the snow on the ground, hissing wildly and leaving a small puddle of water behind.

The Altmer gave her a baffled and a rather angry stare.

“The fuck, woman?!” Bishop scowled at her, but she still ignored him, staring Aeyrin down. It made her really uncomfortable.

“I-I… I can’t do wards…” she lowered her eyes nervously as her cheeks blushed in embarrassment. The priests didn’t really make much use of wards – they were mostly taught to paladins to help them in battle.

“Wards are _basic_ restoration spells! What _can_ you do?” the woman scowled deeply at her, awaiting a satisfying answer. One Aeyrin probably didn’t have for her.

“I… I can heal… I was trained in a temple in…” she started to explain, but the Altmer interrupted her condescendingly.

“A priest? We teach scholars, not healers. You’d better ask around the temples for training. We cannot help you here,” she scoffed and returned back to the stone arch. The gate closed behind her promptly.

Aeyrin was convinced that the College _could_ in fact help her. If nothing else, wards would be useful to learn. And she still wanted to see what lore they had available. And they really wanted to have their weapons enchanted.

Bishop threw her a pondering look before he turned back towards the Altmer: “We have money…” It was kind of a lie… they had _some_ , not a lot. But they had so much loot to sell. They kind of hoped to sell it at the College…

“Hah! So do we, Nord,” the Altmer scoffed at him dismissively. The gate still remained pointedly closed.

“We have loot to sell. From ancient ruins and shit…” he tried again with determination after seeing Aeyrin’s disappointed look at the woman’s rejection.

“Good for you. There’s the trader,” the mage shook her head exasperatedly and pointed towards one of the buildings in town.

“We have Dwemer artifacts from the depths of one of their cities!” Aeyrin perked up with a hopeful look in her eyes when she remembered the myriad of metals and strange contraptions they recovered.

That did it. The Altmer straightened up and walked towards the gate again – this time it didn’t open though. How was _that_ possible?

“Show me,” she nodded, the curiosity palpable in her eyes.

Aeyrin promptly fished around her pack and took out the most interesting piece they found – the glowing orb encrusted in a metal construction. It shone impressively as she raised it in her hand with pride in her eyes.

The Altmer narrowed her eyes at the artifact. She must have been pondering on its purpose.

A few seconds later she burst out in laughter and shook her head at them. They shared a very disheartened look – the orb certainly looked impressive to them.

“That’s just a dynamo core! It’s a power source! We have dozens of these and they’re useless without the machines that require them,” the woman smirked again and turned back to her previous position by the stone arch. That was probably the most interesting thing they had… and they almost died getting it. This was more and more spirit-crushing. What else could they do to gain entry?

Bishop threw Aeyrin a regretful look followed by a shrug. He knew she didn’t want anyone to know instantly, but it was obviously their only option. And it really bugged him how increasingly disappointed she looked.

She sighed, knowing full well what his look implied. She couldn’t help but cringe a bit before the words left her mouth.

“I’m the Dragonborn.”

The Altmer’s head shot up and a curious look appeared in her eyes, but soon, it turned skeptical and exasperated: “That’s one pathetic attempt, sweetie.”

“It’s true! I… I can prove it…” she sighed. She really hoped she wouldn’t have to prove it there and then – she didn’t want the townspeople to know too.

“Oh really? Are you actually trying to tell me that you can perform an ancient draconic spell? Or did they not teach them at the temple either?” the mage scoffed at her and gave her an expectant look.

“I _can_! I just… can we go somewhere… further from the town?” Aeyrin asked nervously.

The Altmer raised her brow at her, but she seemed intrigued. She nodded slowly and approached the gate again. This time it swung open.

“Very well. At least you are responsible enough to keep the power away from the frightened masses. Unlike some of our students…” the woman grumbled. Was she referring to Darren? “Only _you_ are allowed in, however. For now!” she scowled at Bishop meanly.

Bishop was taking a breath to, without a doubt, insult the women in some way, but Aeyrin was luckily faster. “Please! He’s helping me with the research on dragon lore. I’d really appreciate if he was allowed inside with me. I can show you anything of the dragon… spells… you wish to see, I promise,” she gave the Altmer a hopeful look. Why would they have such a problem with allowing people inside anyways? Maybe it was the general hatred they received from the Nords on regular basis.

“Fine. But if you’re lying, I’m throwing you off the bridge in an ice block. You’ll just be floating forever in the Sea of Ghosts like a good little ice-brain,” the mage laughed menacingly.

She was rather scary. Aeyrin even started to get anxious. What if her powers just… stopped working suddenly? That wasn’t possible, right? Right?

“My name is Faralda. I am the Master of the destruction school. If either of you were able to cast even a minor cantrip, I might have been one of your instructions. This way, I only hope you have some impressive dragon fire in store for the performance,” the Altmer winked at Aeyrin and ushered them to follow her across the bridge.

“’Master of the destruction school’… so you’re like one of the head mageys?” Bishop smirked at her mockingly. She was definitely full of it, like all mages.

“Of course. I am the most accomplished scholar in the study of destruction in all of Skyrim. Not that it was a challenge,” Faralda snorted haughtily. Her neck seemed to crane up a bit in a gesture of pride.

“So… ‘Master’, you feel like your unmatched skills are best suited to guarding a bridge?” Bishop laughed at her cheekily while Aeyrin let out a deep sigh. He really couldn’t help it, could he? 

“If you _must_ know… I… lost a bet… I got bridge duty for a week because of it…” Faralda grumbled in annoyance as they passed one of the circular corners of the unorthodoxly built bridge.

There was a stone well in the middle of it with a grate covering its top. Faralda gently ran her hand over the grate in passing and a beam of bright blue light suddenly shot up from the depths, startling them both.

Thank the Divines they left Karnwyr in the town – he would definitely freak out over all the strange things happening around almost constantly.

This little ritual happened twice more before they reached another large metal gate. It went alit with the same bright blue light and then it suddenly opened in front of them – it must have been some sort of a magical lock with the wells as the keys. This was all rather more impressive than Aeyrin expected – they used spells for _everything_.

They entered a large circular courtyard enclosed into tall battlements. There was a grand stone tower in front of them, a crescent-like buildings on the sides of the courtyard and several doors on the battlements. All of these must have been filled with mages – it was likely their only refuge in Skyrim. There was a big statue in the middle of the courtyard – clearly of some mage. A fiery red orb and an icy blue one floated above each of his upturned hands.

Some people were starting to gather around them curiously and looking both Bishop and Aeyrin over.

“New students, Faralda?” an old Dunmer smiled at the two of them welcomingly. Everyone seemed rather excited to see them. There likely wasn’t any new blood at the College for some time.

“No. But the girl here claims she’s the Dragonborn,” Faralda smirked rather arrogantly.

The kind smiles disappeared, replaced by the painfully familiar shocked stares, barely contained whispers and curious prying looks.

Aeyrin got anxious instantly and Bishop placed his hand on her back subtly, as if he could sense her discomfort. Sadly, it would only make things worse if she hid herself in his arms, no matter how much she wished to. She got that uncomfortable feeling again that she had to present herself as the strong confident Dragonborn that everyone wanted.

Funny… at times she had no trouble being strong and confident, but _never_ when she was overwhelmingly aware that she was expected to be like that by everyone present.

“We heard the rumors… it’s hardly surprising that she would seek answers from someone less ignorant than the lovely Skyrim citizens. What’s surprising is that you let her in, Faralda dear,” a bald Imperial man in blue robes chuckled at them.

“She promised proof,” Faralda smirked and started to usher them forward again towards the large tower building.

Much to Aeyrin’s dismay, everyone from the courtyard followed.

…

Aeyrin stood in the middle of a large room, right next to a spiral staircase. She was facing a wall – there were some metal plates on it, decorated by black marks from fire, lightning and Gods knew what else. This was without a doubt where the students practiced their spells.

She was all too aware of the crowd behind her back, all waiting expectantly for their new ‘pet Dragonborn’ to perform…

Oh well… there was not much to do about it. And Faralda wanted dragon fire…

At least everyone seemed to be a safe distance away.

“YOL!”

The flames engulfed the stones and the metal plates. The plates looked like they were melting a little but the stone was predictably unaffected. And soon, with no kindling to hold them, the flames disappeared in mere seconds.

Everyone was silent for a while.

Then it started…

“I wonder if the flames are susceptible to non-magical elements…” a voice echoed behind her.

“The dragon Shouts are often associated with the worship of Kyne – if we take the potential link into account, it should be possible for natural elements to affect them.”

“They are spells, Colette… you and your obsession with nature… Nothing can douse a magical flame but more magic.”

“When will you understand that nature and magic are merely opposing sides of one coin?! If you have bothered to read my treatise on harnessing healing energy from…”

“Enough with your treatise, Colette! Nobody read it because restoration is for children. The real question is whether the dragon magic is the same as the one wielded by us. My hypothesis is that the dragon fire can only be affected by different dragon magic,” Faralda’s familiar voice rang through the hall.

“Who is to say that our magic is not based on the dragon’s magic? If you consider the historical connotations, men have learned much from their dragon overlords,” some older man’s voice retorted instantly.

“Magic is _clearly_ perfected by _our_ people! There are absolutely no reliable records of your ‘dragon overlords’ anywhere near the Summerset Isles!”

“Umm… excuse me…” Aeyrin turned around nervously towards the crowd in the midst of the heated discussion. “It’s fire. It burns when there’s kindling and stops when there isn’t…” she shrugged. She’s never even heard of magical fire not being dousable by water. What were they talking about?

“Well of course, girl! We are obviously discussing this with the usage of everlasting coating in mind, such as Ganenare’s Lantern Mantis Extract or perhaps Pyroil Tar… hmm…” the Imperial mage in blue robes retorted with a pondering expression on his face.

“Pyroil Tar _would_ make for a good base of observation. You mentioned you got some Dwemer… ehm… ‘artifacts’. Do you by any chance have any?” Faralda turned to Aeyrin again.

“I… I don’t even know…” Aeyrin threw up her arms. She was completely lost in the conversation. None of those words made any sense.

“Fantastic,” Faralda scoffed.

“I will prepare a substitute with the remaining Lavaburst Mushrooms. It will still work for our purposes. I only need a few moments,” an Argonian woman in white robes nodded resolutely and started weaving her way through the crowd away from them until she disappeared completely.

“Very well. This gives us time for more performances. Well… what else can you do?” Faralda looked at Aeyrin expectantly.

“I am predominantly interested in any illusory components to the dragon magic. They are hardly performed by dragons on the hunt. Did you by any chance learn any such spells?” the old Dunmer studied her curiously.

She nodded. Everyone’s scrutiny was making her highly uncomfortable, but they were surely not going to stop until they were satisfied with their findings.

Illusory components… she could think of a few Shouts that were kind of like illusion spells.

“FEIM!”

She could have sworn some of the mages gasped in awe at her transformation.

The Dunmer rushed over to her and started studying her carefully. Then he outstretched his arm. It went straight through her stomach, making it churn oddly. He didn’t seem to be planning on withdrawing it.

She stepped back in panic when the familiar tingle of her corporeal self was making itself known. What in the Void would have happened if he left his arm stuck through her stomach? She was pretty sure it would kill her instantly.

“Did that hurt?” he raised his brows at her.

“No… it’s stopping. I don’t know what would happen!” she shook her head frantically. She was really worried that he was determined to find out.

Instead the Dunmer chuckled at her: “Oh yes… that would probably end very badly. I merely did that to see the thoroughness of the illusion but… it does not appear to be one. If we take invisibility into account, one does not in fact lose one’s physical form. It is only an illusion, so to speak. This seems to be more in tune with very powerful alteration magic. Tolfdir would be interested in this… where is he?”

“With the students, I believe,” one of the mages replied.

“No matter then. Do you know any other Shouts you believe might be connected to illusion school?” the Dunmer studied her curiously again while her form returned back to normal.

Aeyrin flushed instantly. She only knew of one other Shout that he could mean and… she _really_ didn’t want to perform it for them. Her eyes turned to Bishop on the other side of the room. He looked somewhat morose the entire time, but now a smirk crept up on his face. It was clear he thought of the same thing. And it seemed like he would enjoy it if she went through with this.

“J-just one… I guess… but… it’s a little… weird…” she stammered nervously.

“Hah! Illusion magic often is, girl. Go on then, show us.” the Dunmer smirked and stepped back from her to avoid any potential accidents.

She took a deep breath and gave one last desperate look to Bishop. He, however, seemed rather happy with what was about to come.

“ZUL mey gut…”

“HEY! CHEESE-BRAIN!”

The mages stared slack-jawed at the top of the spiral staircase where the taunt came from while Bishop tried to hold in a laugh.

The Dunmer was the first to turn back to her, his eyes full of curiosity and amazement.

“You Shouted, correct? And you used the dragon language?”

She only nodded in response.

“Did _you_ hear the dragon words?” he continued to prod while the remaining mages kept looking back at her, still rather dumbfounded.

She nodded again. She already knew she was the only one who could hear them. This was definitely the strangest Shout she discovered yet. Well, she assumed so… she still didn’t know what the green light that enveloped Karnwyr once did.

“Astounding! And the words you sent forth… are they conscious? Subconscious? Or entirely out of your control? That would carry some interesting connotations about the appropriation of the magical effect towards the speech and cultural environment of its current wielder,” the Dunmer’s questions wouldn’t stop.

“How would you feel about letting me do an extensive study on the properties of your extraordinary blood?” a Dunmer woman stepped forth from the crowd. She looked… disturbing…

“Do you know any spells which are more focused on controlling natural elements? Such as the wind or flora? I am very interested in the connection to the ancient worship of Kyne,” the woman the mages previously called Colette asked.

This… was going to be an exhausting day…

…

After a very long time and a series of exasperating experiments, the two of them were offered temporary quarters in the building housing the students.

Faralda promised that one of the wizards overseeing the administrative goings on in the College would deal with them the next day – they would be allowed to ask for whatever they wished from the College and he would consider the conditions of their stay and research.

They were led into the student’s quarters, shown to the dining and bathing rooms and subsequently to one small room with a double bed. They were forbidden from leaving the building until they made the deal with the wizard.

When the mage who escorted them closed the door behind him, Bishop turned to her instantly.

“You alright, sweetness? They were fucking relentless…” he grumbled and raked one hand through her hair.

“Yeah… I just hate… ‘performing’ like this so much. I hope it’s worth it…” she sighed. She leaned into his embrace tiredly and slowly wrapped her hands around his waist.

“It better be…” he said with palpable exasperation in his voice. “But there’s one good thing about this. At least after all that, you can be pretty sure that Shouting a lot in a short time doesn’t have any bad effects.”

She nodded thoughtfully. He was right. She never really Shouted so much in such a short time span. The only times when she overdid it before were her desperate escapes when she was wounded or exhausted. In those cases, it was hard to tell whether the Shouting had any effects at worsening her state, or if it was simply exhaustion. This time at least, she was hale and whole and none worse for the wear.

He interrupted her pondering a while later by sliding his hands on her hips and disentangling her from his embrace.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

…

They picked their fair share for their plates from the large buffet table and sat in the dining room.

It didn’t take long before the door opened and a few people hauled in, eager for a meal after a day of studies and spell practice.

There was a young Khajiit man in bright red robes – similar to Faralda’s. It may have meant that his studies focused on destruction magic too. He was followed by a dark-haired Dunmer girl, clad in green robes and… Darren.

Wasn’t he suspended? Aeyrin really didn’t want to have to deal with _him_ again.

His nose looked broken – he had a dark red bruise on its bridge and some fainter ones under his eyes.

It was… odd… why did no one heal him?

She should probably offer… eventually… she _was_ still a cleric after all and her vows required her to help. She just… really didn’t want to help him in any way…

“What in Oblivion is the meaning of this?!” Darren’s outburst echoed through the hall almost instantly when he spotted the two of them.

“Aye… J’zargo is concerned that there is no more food left for us…” the Khajiit chuckled as he looked over their filled plates.

What? They were adventurers! They were fighting and lugging heavy loads all the time. They needed to eat accordingly. Besides, the food looked really good.

“That’s not what I mean! They are not mages! They are not allowed here!” Darren continued yelling angrily, purposefully addressing his co-students rather than the two of them.

“Hey, magey, do you want your jaw to match your nose?” Bishop barked at him. He was in no mood to deal with him again. Last night was enough.

The Khajiit and the Dunmer looked at each other for a while, then curious and a little disturbing smiles spread on both their faces. “You’re the ones that kicked Darren’s ass out of the inn?” the girl chuckled while she headed towards the large table to pick some food for herself.

“We have heard of that! Enthir saw the whole thing. He says that Darren tried to cast a spell in the tavern and got beat down by an elven girl instead, yes?” the Khajiit snickered, taking some food for himself too before both him and the Dunmer joined them at the dining table.

“Can we stop this stupid chattering? And like I said, they have no business here! They are not mages!” Darren’s face got bright red, likely from both anger and embarrassment.

“How would _you_ know? You never asked…” Aeyrin scoffed, grumbling. He didn’t know a single thing about them yet he kept making assumptions. In this case correct ones, but still…

“J’zargo has heard of this too. Apparently the Dragonborn lady, that the Nords have been talking of incessantly, is visiting with her companion,” the Khajiit grinned at them while the Dunmer nodded knowingly.

At least they already heard and she didn’t have to suffer the shocked and often judgmental looks.

Well… almost…

Darren stared at her with his mouth ajar for a while, likely uncertain whether he heard correctly.

“So why did Darren attack you two? Was he just being his usual dickish self?” the girl giggled, earning an amused chuckle from Bishop.

“Brelyna, shouldn’t you rather concentrate on practicing enough to be able to cast an actual spell rather than fishing for pointless rumors?!” Darren’s face was still bright red as he threw her a hateful look.

“J’zargo doesn’t find them pointless. In fact, he finds them awfully entertaining,” the Khajiit laughed and Darren’s hateful glare turned towards him instantly.

“Do you _want_ me to turn you into a warm cloak, you furry imbecile?” Darren burst out. It was a surprise that his head didn’t explode. Neither the Khajiit nor the Dunmer even spared him a glance, however, still enjoying their meal and conversing with Bishop and Aeyrin casually.

“J’zargo assumes this is why he got punched, correct?” the Khajiit smiled at them calmly. It was very clear now that they were all used to these outbursts. It was a bit sad, in a way. He must have been this angry about everything for such a long time.

“I thought you were suspended…” Aeyrin narrowed her eyes at Darren who was still caught in a fit of boiling rage.

“He was! He came crawling back here yesterday evening, begging Master Tolfdir to let him back in. He made up some cockamamie story about how a barbarian attacked him and that he was menacing everyone at the inn, but Enthir saw the whole thing. He told Tolfdir what happened. Darren was allowed in just so that he wouldn’t freeze outside in the night. He was denied healing for his nose and he is not allowed to use magic for a month! If he disobeys, he’ll be expelled!” Brelyna relayed the story excitedly, giggling all the way through. It seemed that Darren was really unpopular among his peers.

Small wonder that…

Bishop laughed heartily at the story while Darren was still stewing in his own anger. He didn’t even take any food, he just stood there, seething.

Aeyrin sighed. She was still kind of conflicted about helping him out with his injury.

_Heal as required not as requested._

Dammit, she hated this.

“I hope you enjoyed your evening with the imbecilic barbarian,” Darren scoffed derisively. Was he really somehow assuming that she didn’t, for some reason? And just the thought of that night… her entire face turned beet red within a second. She glanced towards Bishop briefly. Unsurprisingly, his face was decorated by a pleased smug smirk.

“Looks like she did,” J’zargo snorted in amusement and a second later both him and Brelyna burst out in a fit of laughter.

Darren really looked ready to pass out from anger. Aeyrin even almost felt sorry for him at that point. She wondered if he was constantly ridiculed because of his abrasive manner, or if he was always laughed at like that and only became this unpleasant as a result.

“Darren… I can heal your nose…” she said through gritted teeth. She really shouldn’t let her personal feeling affect her convictions.

“As if a mage of my caliber needed help from any ‘healer’! You can shove it!” he spat at her angrily.

“Darren, don’t be stupid. I’m offering to help you…” she sighed, clenching her fists under the table as if it would help her not get any angrier at him. She couldn’t help but wonder if she ever got this unreasonable when her rage got out of hand. It was an uncomfortable thought.

“Piss off! Don’t act like you’re better than me!” Darren barked in response instantly. A second later he finally turned on his heels and left the dining room for good, slamming the door behind him.

She looked at the door, still conflicted. Maybe he wouldn’t act like it if he wasn’t in front of his fellow students. Maybe he just worried they would laugh at him again.

But she really didn’t want to deal with him anymore. She worried that his manner would get her riled up too and that would likely not end well for anyone involved.

“Hey, sweetness, you remember how you didn’t want the healing after Windhelm…” she felt Bishop’s breath on her ear suddenly as he whispered to her.

She gave him a questioning look.

“I’m just saying… it’s not like it’s life-threatening. And he _really_ looks like he could use a prominent reminder of some things…” he smirked.

She was rather overcome by how he instantly knew why she was conflicted and more impressively, how to help her out. It felt a bit strange, clinging to loopholes in her vows, but… it _did_ ease her mind about all this.

She planted a grateful kiss on his cheek before she noticed Brelyna smirking at them.

“You two are cute. But I have an important question,” she observed Aeyrin curiously for a while, then her eyes fell down on the full plate in front of her. “How in Oblivion can you eat that much?! Is that some magic trick I haven’t learned yet?”


	96. Ancient Secrets

They barely got clothed when a knock on the door echoed through the small room they shared.

It must have been the mage they were told to meet today.

Aeyrin opened the door expectantly only to be greeted by a familiar face.

“Good morning. Imperial Courier Service.”

It was the same man they met near Whiterun! How did he track them down here? They were in Winterhold only for a few days and no one in Windhelm or Darkwater Crossing knew where they were heading.

It was uncanny.

The man handed her three notes with a smile and she took the opportunity to give him her letter to Master Therien before he left.

“Anything from Raven?” Bishop asked before she even opened the first note. He seemed really eager to continue their potential coup of Mercer’s stranglehold on the Guild. She could hardly blame him, but she was somewhat wary of the events of his last attempt repeating. She wasn’t sure what exactly was the fallout from that but it was very clear that it was bad.

She unfolded the first note tentatively:

.

_I have enjoyed my visit to Riften and gotten everything I needed there. Now I will need to take some time to care for a friend who has been wounded during our journey, but after he regains his strength, he will wish to meet you. He has a lot of interesting stories._

_I will be in touch._

_A friend_

_._

“Well… she survived… surprisingly enough. I guess she still got some moxie in those old bones,” Bishop chuckled after he read the note. “Hopefully her ‘lore-master’ has some answers.”

Aeyrin nodded. The news was better than she expected, even if the lore-master was wounded. Delphine’s note seemed to imply that he would eventually be fine. And it _did_ sound like he had some answers.

She unfolded the second note:

.

_My lady Aeyrin,_

_A word has reached me of some troubling events in Windhelm. I am certain that whatever that foul despot accused you of has been utterly undeserved. I wish I were able to travel to the east and help you set things right. Unfortunately, with the current situation and with the war being at a very precarious stage, the Empire’s pull in the Stormcloak-controlled areas is practically non-existent. I hope you are doing well despite the difficulties._

_My contingent has returned in full numbers and they are all very excited to meet you. They were impressed with my recounting of your bravery against the dragon. I hope you will be making your way back to Solitude soon, I am very much looking forward to seeing you again._

_May the Gods watch over your endeavors and may your faith be your everlasting guide._

_Sincerely_

_Casavir_

_._

Bishop outstretched his hand expectantly, waiting for her to pass him the note. It was so sweet of Casavir to worry over what happened in Windhelm, but Bishop will definitely not be happy about this. She gave him an innocent smile and placed the note into his hand.

It was not like she was going to hide this from him…

His brows creased immediately after reading the first line, his hand clutching the paper, slowly crumpling it as it clenched into a fist. He was really overreacting about a simple sincere letter.

There was an angry rumble forming deep in his throat but surprisingly enough, he didn’t say a word. He handed her the slightly crumpled letter back, hissing through gritted teeth: “Anything from Raven?”

It seemed like he was very eager for some more uplifting reading material now.

She unfolded the last letter with a gentle smile and a slight shake of her head. Such a reaction for a stupid letter:

.

_Dear friends,_

_We have made our way to Solitude to see an old acquaintance. It seems he will be in need of our assistance in the future. I would be grateful if you could make your way here when your time permits. Hopefully my information is correct and he is in no immediate danger._

_If you can make it, we are staying at out friend’s place, but we often enjoy the days by the Solitude docks. I am sure we would be able to meet there._

_We will be awaiting you._

_K + R_

_._

She passed the note to Bishop. She thought he’d be happy to see a message from Raven and Karliah but his brows creased even further upon reading it. He let out an exasperated groan as he gave the note back to her.

“What? I thought you’ll be glad!” she chuckled slightly.

“Yeah… it’s just… Solitude… again…” he grumbled.

“What do you mean? Solitude’s beautiful! And don’t act like you don’t have some… _fun_ memories of the place,” she blushed and nudged him with her elbow suggestively.

He smiled, despite himself. “Yeah… but we can make fun memories anywhere.”

“You just don’t want to see Casavir again,” she snickered at him. It was so easy to see through that.

He groaned once more and rolled his eyes: “And a myriad of pompous tits just like him, looks like…”

She patted his cheek with another giggle. Maybe if he got to know some other paladins, he might even change his mind about them. After all, he didn’t really like any priests and their like but he oddly never had a problem with _her_.

…

The old mage came to see them only a few moments later.

He was wearing bright green robes with golden embroidery. He had a bushy beard and messy hair covering most of his face, but it was clear in spite of that that he had a kind smile. He introduced himself as Master Tolfdir.

After brief introductions, the mage sat himself on one of the chairs in their assigned room and they all started to discuss the terms of their visit to the College.

“I have no qualms about giving you access to the library. You will not be able to borrow any books away from the College, but you are free to peruse anything you wish while on the premises. Let it not be said that the mages of Winterhold do not do their part in the battle against these, quite frankly, fascinating creatures,” he smiled rather wistfully and gave them a gentle nod. “Our enchanting services and our stores are generally open to public, however most of the orders are done by the courier. As you have noticed, we do not allow many outsiders on our premises. People often hold on to old grudges and that tends to create… problems. You are, of course, free to use our services however you wish.”

This went even better than expected.

“Now… for your last request…” he sighed. “I am afraid that we cannot train you in magic use, dear. Our studies require dedication and time which your responsibilities and lifestyle sadly do not allow for. I would suggest seeking out someone from the temples who would be willing to assist you.”

It was not like she hasn’t tried that… but obviously any training wouldn’t merely involve reading a spell book if she couldn’t actually understand it.

“However, if I understand Faralda’s recounting correctly, there are some basic techniques you would likely be able to learn quickly with the restoration Master’s assistance. I will ask her to help you with learning some basics of warding,” Tolfdir smiled at her. “But first… I had an offer for the both of you.”

Bishop and Aeyrin shared a curious look. Hopefully it didn’t involve being part of some of their magical experiments…

“Today we have an expedition planned into the ruins of Saarthal. It is an ancient Nordic barrow. I assume you two are familiar with those…” Tolfdir smirked. The mages already questioned her extensively on how she learned her ‘dragon spells’. “We have explored the first few chambers and made sure they are safe to conduct research in. I will be taking my students there to study the remnants of the ancient culture, but I was thinking… with you two here and so accustomed to such endeavors, perhaps you would be interested in delving further into the ruins while we conduct our studies? It would make the place secure for further research. You would be compensated, of course. Perhaps I could even convince Sergius to waive the price of his enchanting services,” he winked at them conspiratorially.

This was not only a good offer, but Aeyrin could even find another Word in there! It was perfect. And hopefully Karliah’s issues indeed weren’t urgent.

…

The company in the ruins wasn’t ideal.

While Brelyna and J’zargo were rather happy to see them there, Darren was decidedly not.

Brelyna informed them with unbridled malicious joy that Darren was forbidden to even talk during the excursion, due to his ‘irritable temper’. Apparently he held a grudge the previous night and had rather public words with J’zargo in the courtyard which ended up with Darren getting another scolding from Tolfdir.

That man had a serious problem. The nose wound didn’t seem to help as a reminder. Hopefully the various restrictions placed on his life at the College would.

Darren kept throwing Aeyrin and Bishop nasty glares as they talked to Brelyna, but he didn’t dare say anything. Maybe he _did_ learn his lesson. Or at least was starting to.

They kept mostly out of the way while Tolfdir led the group of ten students through the first few chambers, talking about the wall carvings, the architecture or the purposes of the layout. It may have been somewhat interesting, but there was no denying that the two of them were much more eager to see what was hiding in the depths of the ruins.

Eventually Tolfdir stopped in a large chamber. He tasked his students to search for some tiny enchanted rings which were supposed to have been hidden in the chamber according to some of the murals. He suspected that they were prominently displayed but now scattered around the dusty rubble-filled ground during the passage of years.

“That’s one way to make the mageys at least a _little_ useful…” Bishop smirked as they walked through the chamber towards Tolfdir. She suspected he said that purposefully just as they passed Darren. She could feel his contemptful look at her back as they walked on, heading towards the Master wizard.

“There you are! Yes, now would be the part where you continue further on without us. Do be careful, children. I know you are used to these explorations, but caution is your best friend in any such place,” Tolfdir smiled kindly and ushered them towards the familiar pillars with animal carvings.

They’ve seen a lot of these before, but these ones seemed to be purposefully untouched, as if none of the mages attempted to move them to the right combination of images. Tolfdir likely didn’t even try to explore further, wary of the dangers ahead. Or he did, but retreated and misaligned the pillars purposefully to prevent his students from going further in. Although the layer of dust on them suggested otherwise.

The old mage eventually walk towards the pillars and moved them with certainty to the correct position before pulling on the lever beside them. The grate leading further in opened invitingly a second later.

“I will leave this open, but please, keep our safety in mind. I assure you that if I hear anything... menacing coming from the passage, I will close this exit instantly,” Tolfdir’s brows creased.

With a nod of acknowledgement they moved to explore the rest of the ruins.

…

It was a comfortable routine by now.

After the ordeal in the Dwemer ruins, the Nordic ones were almost refreshingly predictable. They knew exactly what to expect.

They continued through the passages and cleared out several further chambers.

They have left most of their previously collected loot at the College to sell it later – they needed more room in their packs for the things they would gather here. Sadly the valuable items weren’t many in Saarthal, especially since, on Aeyrin’s insistence, they left behind anything that could have been of some scholarly merit to the mages. Bishop insisted they could sell it to them later anyways, but that just seemed wrong to her. After all, they’d never even had the opportunity to explore the place if it weren’t for Tolfdir. Apparently the mages kept the entire complex locked and secured since they cleared the chambers out. It was no wonder. Some bandits could have swooped in at any time after all.

This way, only the undead remained in their path.

Bishop withdrew his shortsword from one of the draugr with a content sigh: “This is the right stuff, princess. So much more satisfying than those fucking blind creeps or those machines.”

She smiled at him. It _was_ rather nice to go back to the familiar undead killing. The draugr weren’t nearly as creepy as the Falmer. And they didn’t make her question the morality of her dungeon delving.

“There was way more loot though,” he sighed at the meager pickings they acquired so far.

“True… but you know the best stuff is always at the end,” she winked at him and ushered him forward into the ruins.

It didn’t take long for them to make their way through several other chambers.

There were even some more unorthodox ones – such as a circular chamber guarded by a large number of draugr, all gradually waking from their slumber and attacking them incessantly. Their constant onslaught forced them into the center of the room, only protected by a large grate above an bottomless-looking pit. They were so certain that at any moment, some sort of mechanism will spring and send them tumbling down its depth.

Of course the trap eventually sprung, but by then, they fortunately managed to change their position, and sent several draugr tumbling down into the pit instead.

After another hour or two spent exploring, they finally reaches a point which signaled the final chamber.

For Aeyrin at the least.

“I hear it! There’s another Wall!”

“Alright, ladyship. Let’s get to it,” Bishop nodded at her reassuringly.

She ran forward, determined to locate the Wall quickly, but as she entered the room, she was stopped in her tracks by the sight in front of her.

There was… something.

It was a giant orb – pale-blue and littered with glowing teal runic scripts. It was turning, swirling and levitating above the ground. There was so much strange energy in the air. Faint magical tingling seemed to cover every inch of their skin.

Aeyrin didn’t recognize the runes. It wasn’t dragon language and it wasn’t Daedric. It didn’t even bear any resemblance to any Dwemer carvings or engravings.

It was getting kind of blurry… and loud. There was some loud noise at her back as she kept staring at the orb. She was starting to feel woozy. Something was incessantly drumming in her head.

Wait, the Wall! She was supposed to find the Wall!

Before she could react, she felt herself be lifted and slumped into the familiar arms. The weight of her in her armor made them quiver and buckle slightly, but Bishop held onto her as securely as he could. She felt that she was carried but she couldn’t hear or see anything anymore.

It happened so fast. Was she really looking at the orb for so long?

Finally there was light in the distance. She wanted to escape from his arms and run to it, but she wasn’t sure if she could.

He was so slow… she needed to see it already!

_II_ _Z_

Her vision slowly started to return and the first thing she could focus on was Bishop’s concerned face looking down on her.

“Oh… Gods… I… don’t know what happened… I’m so sorry…” she shook her head as he gently set her back down on the ground. He shook his hands briskly after she was safely on her feet. as if they were falling asleep under the weight.

“It’s fine, princess. I got a little… caught up too. There’s something fucking weird about that thing…” he looked over his shoulder warily, then quickly averted his gaze away from the orb again.

Before they could ponder further, a familiar sound echoed through the chamber – the opening of a sarcophagus.

An already familiar creature screeched from the front of the room, right below the double staircase from above which they entered. It was another one of those draugr mages, but this one… glowed. An aura surrounded it, the same teal color as the giant orb. Was it affecting it somehow?

There was not much time to question it though. They needed to act.

“KRII!”

This was an already familiar routine. The Shout always undid them.

Bishop’s arrow flew at the creature right after, but… it didn’t even hit it. It fell away right in front of it as if the teal aura stopped it completely.

“What the fuck?” he swore, but still notched another arrow to try again.

Aeyrin rushed forward to slam her mace into the creature. Wait, was it even glowing with the red aura of her Shout? It was so hard to tell with the teal light all over it.

She smashed her weapon against the draugr’s head with force. But instead of the anticipated impact, a strange force coursed through her and pain shot across her arm as it was forcefully stopped right before it hit the creature.

What in the Void was going on?!

“Try the new one!” Bishop called out to her. Instead of trying pointlessly to shoot the undead, he aimed at the orb. Maybe if he destroyed it, the creature’s protection would wane.

The draugr mage began to weave its hands as lightning started to form and crackle between them.

Aeyrin needed to stop it. Trying the new shout was risky, but they were running out of ideas.

“IIZ!”

Her throat tingled slightly with cold. It was the same with every Shout – there was always a… hint of something, but she usually couldn’t identify it. She could feel some cold energy coming from around her, aiming at the creature.

But nothing happened.

Bishop’s arrows were met with the same effect when facing the orb. The teal aura made everything harmless.

The creature finished weaving its spell and Aeyrin only barely managed to jump across an old stone altar, hiding behind it from the powerful lightning. There were some items on the altar and they flew, scattering around her as an uncomfortable electric energy surrounded her. But luckily the spell didn’t hit her.

Then she noticed something. One of the items fallen from the table was a staff.

It was ordinary – they found a lot of their likes in the ancient Nordic ruins, but it gave her an idea.

The orb was clearly magic and powerful one at that. Words spoken yesterday suddenly echoed in her mind: _“Nothing can douse a magical flame but more magic.”_ She didn’t understand it. Any magical flame she’s seen before could be doused by water. But then they continued their experiments as the Argonian in white robes brought some odd substance and a brazier. They poured the substance into it and lit it with a fire spell to demonstrate for her. They brought water, poured it onto it, but the flames raged on. They only died out after Faralda conjured a block of ice above it, practically making the flames create their own doom as they melted it upon themselves. Aeyrin then lit the brazier again with her fire Shout and Faralda was able to douse it once more with her magic, making all of the present mages discuss the implications excitedly.

It gave her an idea. If the orb was magic, perhaps the only thing it would react to was more magic.

She grabbed the staff, straightening herself.

“How does this work? Anyone can use these, ri- Ah!” she yelped as she unintentionally swung the staff around a bit more forcefully than necessary. A bolt of lightning shot from it instantly, straight at the giant orb.

Well… it _was_ the biggest target in the chamber.

The orb still glowed, but the aura around the mage wavered slightly.

“Fuck! That’s it! Do it again! I’ll kill the bastard!” Bishop yelled at her while he notched another arrow. The creature looked over the room in what looked like panic.

Aeyrin thrust the staff forward and aimed at the orb again. Another powerful lightning shot from it and Bishop let his arrow loose right after, this time hitting the creature.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem fazed.

“Ladyship, the Shout!” he yelled again. It didn’t look like it worked before. Or it dissipated already.

She took a deep breath. The waver of the aura didn’t last long. She had to react quickly for everything to work.

_ZAP_

“KRII!”

_SWISH_

Finally, Bishop’s arrow shot right through the mage’s mask just as its aura was reigniting again. The mask shattered and the creature lit up in flames, crumbling to the ground before it slowly burned to the familiar dust pile.

They both took deep breaths of relief, but neither of them could help but still occasionally throw wary glances at the orb. It looked exactly the same as when they saw it first. The magic didn’t seem to damage it at all.

“Fuck, that was weird. How did you know to do that?” Bishop approached her and peered at the staff in her hand.

“I just thought… you remember that thing with the brazier yesterday? So I thought… use magic against magic…” she shrugged. She felt much more lucky than actually clever.

“Impressive. Never would’ve thought of that,” he gave her an appreciative smirk before he started looking over the rest of the room slowly. “Wanna try your Shout again?” he asked after he headed over to the altar and studied the things that scattered there for some potential loot.

“Not here… I feel weird with this… thing here. We should just take what we can and let the mages figure out the rest…” she sighed, glancing at the orb again warily.

They scoured the room for some time, but there wasn’t much of interest. The draugr mage left behind some sort of amulet but Aeyrin insisted they gave it to Tolfdir first, in case it was connected to the orb.

After a while they were ready to head back up the stairs when a familiar grating voice interrupted them.

“I thought you’d be already dead. I hardly thought either of you capable of anything but low blows and cheap tricks,” Darren walked down the stairs towards them, his eyes occasionally darted towards the orb with palpable curiosity.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk, magey,” Bishop smirked at him meanly.

“You’re the one who should keep his yap shut, dog!” Darren barked at him with narrowed eyes, but again his attention got diverted by the orb. He couldn’t stop glancing at it.

“Darren, you should go back. It isn’t safe here… I think…” Aeyrin sighed in exasperation. This was the last person she was in the mood to deal with.

“Oh stop acting like you’re concerned already, bitch! I should just teach you both a lesson on how to treat your betters!” his face turned red with anger again gradually, then he looked at the orb again. His body still told them he was caught up in his rage – his fists were clenched and teeth gritted, but his eyes were full of wonder as he stared at the glowing spectacle. “Won’t be so hard to believe some incompetent fools like you died here anyways…” he kept making his threats but his eyes were now steadfast on the orb, almost as if he couldn’t help himself.

Was that what happened to them before?

Suddenly Darren took a step closer to it, his hand outstretching as if he was mesmerized.

“I’ve made such a discovery… the whole College will fall at my feet…” he mumbled quietly as his arm slowly reached towards the oddity levitating in the middle of the chamber.

“DARREN, DON’T TOUCH IT!” Aeyrin yelled out, but it was too late.

His fingers connected only barely with the teal aura and there was a deafeningly loud sound – a magical burst, ringing and echoing everywhere. Darren looked like he was hit with a powerful shock, thrown back across the chamber. His body collided heavily with the stone wall.

Aeyrin rushed over to him instantly to see to his state.

He looked alive, but he was definitely out of it, likely in shock. His body was however… smoking, as if he was shocked with powerful electricity. She started to undo his robes frantically without even thinking, uncovering the pulpy wound after a magical burn all across his chest.

Her hand lit with magic, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to heal him properly.

“Bish, please go get Master Tolfdir,” she turned to him for a while, but concentrated back on Darren quickly. As hopeless as it was, she still attempted to heal him.

Bishop looked like he would protest for a second. The fool made his own bed after all. But in the end he just nodded and rushed from the room to locate the old wizard.

He only hoped it wasn’t too late for Aeyrin’s sake.

He couldn’t care less about that asshole.


	97. In Pursuit of Knowledge

The atmosphere has become much more somber and tense ever since they returned from Saarthal.

It turned out that Aeyrin has in the end been the only one with any knowledge of healing spells among the mages at the ruins, including Tolfdir. It did not bode well for Darren. When it became clear how hopeless her attempts were, Tolfdir ordered a few of the students to take him back to the College.

It wasn’t certain whether he would survive the journey.

The orb, however, still required the mages’ attention. All of them have gotten under the same effect as Bishop, Aeyrin and Darren did – somewhat mesmerized and losing some consciousness of passing time. None of them, however, tried to touch it after what happened to Darren.

Tolfdir asked Bishop and Aeyrin for an exact recounting of what happened and he studied the orb as well as the amulet with palpable curiosity. Eventually he asked them to escort the students safely back to the College while he stayed behind, still studying the ruins.

Not even Brelyna and J’zargo had commented on the events. Everyone was oddly silent.

At least until they knew what happened to Darren.

In the morning, they were all greeted with unexpected news.

First of all, Darren actually survived, but he would need a lot of time to recover, even with the help of Colette – the Master of the restoration school at the College.

Secondly, Tolfdir made the decision to study the orb further. And for that to happen, he concluded that the best option was to… move it. It seemed ridiculously dangerous, but none of the Masters even batted an eye at his decision.

Now there was an unidentified extremely powerful and dangerous magical orb, surrounded by the spiral staircase right in the middle of the main College tower. The mages seemed more than intrigued by what was uncovered and the risk seemed acceptable to them.

Bishop and Aeyrin decided to at least have something good come out of the deal they had with the mages and made use of the College’s services.

Aeyrin approached Colette about her training, but with Darren’s condition, the woman was unable to pay much attention to her. In the end Aeyrin only ended up with a spell book and a very rough lesson on how a basic ward worked.

She hoped she’d eventually be able to cast it properly. When she tried, she had a lot of trouble keeping it up for long.

The Enchanter Sergius agreed to enchant their weapons for free after their service, but he refused to work on Bishop’s shortsword, saying that he will not waste his talents on a crappy weapon that will shatter after only a few more uses. With substantial amount of grumbling, Bishop eventually purchased an ebony sword from the enchanter to replace his iron one. They _did_ save a lot of money on the enchantments after all.

“Still think they had nothing to do with the city collapsing into the sea?” Bishop smirked, but he was pacing rather nervously as they waited for Sergius to finish his work.

“I don’t know… Maybe they know what they’re doing. Tolfdir said something about placing protective wards around it…” Aeyrin sighed and leaned on the wall near to the room with Sergius’s work station.

Bishop scoffed at that.

Hopefully, they’d be long gone by the time the orb inevitably turned the college into an imitation of the Deadlands or something like that.

They still had to look through the library and see if there was anything useful there. They weren’t certain how long it would take, but it was starting to look like they would be spending one more night at the College.

The door to the workshop swung open and Sergius finally stepped out with a smug look on his face.

“You better appreciate the special treatment, but I suppose such discovery merits it. I have used my very best soulgems on your weapons,” the Imperial beamed and handed them the new sword, Bishop’s old bow and Aeyrin’s crafted mace. The tingle of magic was palpable in all of them.

They should have done this before the ruins. Maybe the weapons would even affect the mage draugr. But then again… they would actually have to _pay_ before the ruins.

They thanked Sergius for what looked like quality work, but without testing the weapons, they really couldn’t be sure.

A few moments later, they made their way to the library.

…

“No, you cannot ‘just look around’. Or did you spend years devising the perfect arrangement and assortment system to keep my books from getting misplaced and lost?”

The old Orc in white robes folded his arms over his chest stubbornly.

Some of the mages around raised their noses from their books and snickered lightly.

“W-we’re gonna put everything back!” Aeyrin protested. How was a _librarian_ this intimidating?

“You will not. You say that, but nobody ever does. If you need something, I will get it for you and I will _personally_ make sure you return it in the same condition it was lent to you, got it?!” the Orc raised his voice menacingly, making her recoil.

“At least we don’t have to spend hours searching through the shelves. Just let him do his thing,” Bishop shrugged with an amused smirk. He probably didn’t realize that some of the books she was interested in were kind of… illegal. She was really hoping to avoid talking to anyone here about them, but then again, shouldn’t the mages favor the pursuit of knowledge, even forbidden one?

“Fine… I was hoping for anything about the Dragonborn or Shouting or just anything relating to dragons. And…” she leaned in a little closer to the Orc so that the other mages wouldn’t overhear her. “Do you have any books on… Talos?” she cringed a little, asking that.

“You don’t have to look so guilty, girl. The man didn’t disappear from history. I have plenty books on Tiber Septim. It’s only the religious texts that got banned,” the Orc snorted before he stepped away from behind his large counter and headed towards one of the bookcases.

“I was… kind of hoping for those…” Aeyrin whispered nervously, making the Orc stop in his tracks for a while.

He turned to her and gave her a pondering look. Was he wondering if she was a spy too? They were technically in Stormcloak territory, weren’t they? Ulfric told her that Winterhold belonged to him. But she couldn’t really imagine him leaving the mages alone to conduct their business and even endanger the town like this. If Winterhold _really_ belonged to Ulfric as much as he claimed, wouldn’t his men be everywhere, monitoring everything the mages did?

The war was complicated…

“Girl, we don’t really get banned books. I know why you’d think that, but… let’s just say there’s plenty people here who wouldn’t be too ecstatic about that,” he sighed, obviously bothered by something. Was the Empire the one monitoring the mages? Or the Thalmor? There were plenty of Altmer around, that was for sure…

“And before you ask, no, I don’t have a secret stash somewhere hidden from prying eyes. But if you’re really interested, you might want to make a trip to Windhelm. And if you’re interested for reasons other than gaining knowledge, let me assure you that those books are currently somewhat legal there…” he grumbled before turning on his feet again and heading towards the bookcases again.

Well… that was a dead end. But at least she had the books from Windhelm and she’d already met Jora and made plans with her. Even if she wasn’t allowed back there, she could always stay in touch with her through letters.

A few moments later the Orc was done scouring his shelves for the appropriate books. He brought a large stack of them to Aeyrin and Bishop. Both their eyes went wide. That was a lot more lore than they expected.

“Here’s your stuff on dragons. And no eating or drinking around the books! If I see one stain, tear or a Divines-damned dog-ear you will _not_ live long enough to regret it!” the Orc growled as he passed the stack of books to them. He gave them one last nod, somewhat threateningly, before he went back to his counter.

He was… disturbing.

“I like that guy…” Bishop smirked before he sank to the ground by the bookcases and opened one of the books with an exaggerated sigh.

This was gonna be so boring.

…

“Look at this!”

Bishop turned his book towards Aeyrin and pointed to a rather detailed drawing of a familiar figure. It was a the draugr mage, with its metal mask and tattered rags – the label said ‘dragon priest’.

“It says that these things were like the most important worshippers of the dragons, that they raise the other draugr and make them guard their tombs or something.”

Aeyrin peered at the picture with interest, pondering on the information.

“It says that they were some high priests or something, that their metal masks are powerful artifacts. Might be the one we got on that mountain,” Bishop grinned at her. Good thing they didn’t sell it off as junk yet. “It also says that it was likely them who made the Walls. They’re just thought to be some writings to communicate stories and shit. There’s nothing about them teaching Shouts to people,” he shrugged and returned to peer into the book.

“Makes sense, I guess. Not like the scholar who wrote the book had a Dragonborn handy to know that…” Aeyrin sighed. Maybe if people like the Greybeards weren’t so reclusive and stingy with sharing knowledge, they could have already learned much more useful information.

“Wait… if the Walls only shine for me… how did people like Ulfric learn to Shout? He’s not Dragonborn… no matter what he likes to claim,” she asked after a while.

“Didn’t he train with the old fossils? They taught you some of the Words too, right?”

She nodded, deep in thought. “But… who taught _them_? The last Dragonborn has been dead since the Third Era…”

“Maybe the previous fossils… I don’t know…” he shrugged.

It made sense somewhat. She wasn’t sure how any of that information helped her though.

“Did _you_ find something?” Bishop turned to her when he closed the book on dragon worship. He rested his head on her shoulder and peered over it into the pages of her tome. They’ve been there for so long already, going through all the books meticulously. But nothing seemed actually helpful.

Interesting, sure, but not really helpful.

What were they actually expecting anyways? It was not like a book would tell them how to defeat the dragons, should they rise up again. From what Delphine told them, the previous dragon ‘overlords’ were simply killed one by one. There didn’t seem to be much else to do.

And none of the books would know who was to blame for their resurrection anyways.

“It’s just something about the history of their society. It says that they were wild animals before one dragon started to lead them, making them into the society with worshippers, slaves and such. It says its name was Alduin. I think I’ve heard that before, it’s supposed to be the firstborn of Akatosh or something like that. The book says that because of that, it can… ‘eat the age of his victims’…” she shuddered uncomfortably. She had no idea what to imagine from those words, but it sounded horrific nonetheless.

“Is there a description?” Bishop looked over the book in her hands, but he wasn’t able to make himself concentrate on the words anymore. At least his book had pictures. In fact, he’s been purposefully picking those that had pictures in them. At least they provided some rest from all the incessant words.

“No… no descriptions. There’s a lot of vague doomsaying like that Alduin the harbinger of the end of times or things like that,” she sighed.

“Yeah, all these fucking books are like that. Scholars love to be dramatic about this shit. It’s just a dragon. Maybe even a dead one already… like the one near Solitude. It had weird powers. You even said you felt… death. That could have been it,” Bishop gave her a half-pondering and half-hopeful look

That was true… maybe he was right.

That was somewhat uplifting.

And he was definitely right about the scholarly writing – the books were needlessly exaggerated. They were full of legends and theories, comparing them and theorizing on their merit, but with no actual definitive answers. The scholars just constantly elaborated upon old stories and tried to find connections in them, but in the end, none of it really helped.

“I hope the lore-master will know more…” she sighed. She closed the book, leaning her head on his in turn.

“Yeah…” Bishop nodded slowly before he disentangled himself from her and started picking off the various books scattered around them and piling them into stacks again. “Now we have more immediate problems though. If you ever needed to pray for something, pray that the Orc doesn’t find anything wrong with the books,” he laughed cheekily.

…

They’ve returned to the Hall of Attainment where the students resided rather later than expected.

At least they got everything they wanted at the College – they had their weapons enchanted, their loot sold and plenty of money raised for their travels. They even found some new information about their enemies, although there wasn’t much practical information that could actually help in dealing with the dragons, ease absorbing of souls or point them towards new Walls.

Finally they headed to the dining room where several students were already indulging in their meals.

The atmosphere seemed a little better ever since the word spread that Darren would eventually be alright. He definitely wasn’t very liked among the students, but still, having one of them almost die on the expedition obviously rattled them.

After they finished eating their dinner in silence among the students, they headed back towards their room.

Who knew that a day spent peering into books was just as exhausting as one spent in battle?

Just as they were about to retreat into the room and fall onto the bed, they were interrupted by a cheery voice.

“There you are! I was hoping to talk to you,” Brelyna rushed over to them with a wry smile on her face. “You see… I could use some help with some new spells I need to practice. And I was thinking… well… you two are adventurers! You’re… resilient…” she bit her lower lip with a slight chuckle.

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound daft and dangerous at all…” Bishop smirked at her and shook his head. The reason they were still capable of adventuring was avoiding suicidal shit like magical experiments.

Brelyna giggled a little in response but gave them a hopeful look nonetheless: “It’s just some alteration magic I need to perfect. It’s not like I’ll be testing my fireball spell! It’s just that… this place is kind of competitive and the others aren’t very eager to help. And even if they _do_ help, they hold it over your head as an eternal debt…” she sighed in frustration.

“Not even J’zargo? You two looked close…” Aeyrin asked her curiously. They seemed to be joking along and whispering every time she saw them together.

“Yeah… but he wants me to test his scrolls in return. I wouldn’t mind but… they’re destruction scrolls. Flame cloak I think. And he needs them tested on the undead. I mean, where am I supposed to test these? Not like I can waltz into a ruin and hope to survive!” she sighed, then gave them another pondering look. “Hey, maybe you can help _him_ too!”

“That sounds even worse…” Bishop rolled his eyes. They were just students – regular mages were dangerous and unpredictable, let alone ones that had no idea what they were doing.

“I don’t mind… I’ll help you two,” Aeyrin smiled at her kindly.

Of course she fucking would…

“Princess, this is fucking idiotic! Who knows what’ll happen!” he creased his brows at her.

“No! They’re safe spells, I promise! Alteration is not harmful magic…” Brelyna retorted pleadingly. She was still looking at Aeyrin with hope in her eyes.

“It’s alright. You can go ahead,” Aeyrin nodded.

Bishop rolled his eyes with an annoyed groan but he stepped out of the way. This was gonna end badly, he just knew it.

And to think they were almost safely away from the College…

“Alright. Thank you, really. So… this is just a waterbreathing spell. We’ll test it in the washbasin in my room once I cast it. Ready?”

Just as Aeyrin nodded, Brelyna’s hand lit up with light blue light, aiming at her. The light hurled towards her a second later and enveloped her whole being in same colored aura.

It only tingled a little, but a second later Aeyrin noticed the aura turn bright green. Wait… was everything turning green? Everywhere she looked… everything had an odd green hue. That must have been more powerful than Brelyna originally thought if it affected everything around them! Now things seemed even… blurry.

“What in the fucking Oblivion?! Undo this!” Aeyrin heard Bishop yelling at Brelyna. Her head was starting to spin a little. Why would a waterbreathing spell make the world spin?

“Yes, yes! Just give me a second! This should work!”

Bishop scowled at the Dunmer fiercely.

‘ _Should_ work’?! Perfect, just fucking perfect! He _knew_ this was a terrible idea! And now Aeyrin was all… green. He sighed with barely subdued anger and pressed his fingers against the crease between his brows exasperatedly.

This better be fucking fixable! Not that she didn’t look good even green. But he would really hate not getting to see her gold hair and olive skin anymore. Not to mention… she looked like she wasn’t feeling well.

Brelyna’s hand lit up again, this time bright yellow.

“I’ll just dispel this…”

Another spell Aeyrin while the world kept spinning wildly all around her.

Finally the dizziness stopped a few seconds later. But now her skin felt odd… itchy. She looked down on her arms, only to see the color changing from the greenish hue to her regular one. But there were some small spots… golden spots.

They were moving and getting bigger, crawling over her skin. They made her whole body jerk as they itched and tickled all over her.

“Oh shit! Sorry, sorry! I’ll fix it!” Brelyna was starting to panic. She instantly weaved her hands together into another spell.

“Like fuck you are, Brelyna! I’m taking her to the old man before you mess her up fucking permanently,” Bishop’s angry yells filled Aeyrin’s ears, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything but scratching away the golden crawling spots.

“No! Please! I promise I know what to do! I know _exactly_ where I made a mistake! Please don’t tell Master Tolfdir!” Brelyna pleaded. She quickly started to weave the spell again before Bishop managed to interrupt her.

Aeyrin felt another singe of magic course through her and the itching slowly subsided. She wasn’t sure but… she _was_ starting to feel more… normal.

Bishop rushed towards her the second it seemed like the effects dissipated.

“Are you alright? Do you feel any different?” his brows were permanently creased in both worry and anger.

“N-no… I think I’m fine…” she sighed, although she was still a little rattled from the experience.

“See? All fixed. No need to panic,” Brelyna smiled but the considerable relief in her voice was painfully obvious.

Bishop turned to the Dunmer sharply and threw her a murderous look. She recoiled quickly from him and the panic returned to her eyes. “I-I-I’m really sorry…” she stammered nervously. Her eyes kept darting towards Bishop with wary glances.

“It’s… it’s fine, Brelyna. I think I’m alright now… Just… maybe do this with one of the instructors next time…” Aeyrin sighed while she grabbed Bishop by the arm and dragged him a bit closer to herself to rein him in a bit. He really looked ready to punch Brelyna.

“Yes… yes I promise I will. Just… one more question… Would you still be willing to test J’zargo’s scrolls?” the Dunmer squirmed nervously, but in a minute she started to frantically explain herself when she saw the anger rise in Bishop’s eyes again: “He’s much better at this, I promise! He just doesn’t have a place to test them himself! You’re the only ones we know who are even capable of clearing out ruins like that. Well… the Masters could but… they don’t really help with testing the spells we make ourselves. Something about life being too short already…”

“Alright, Brelyna. Tell him I’ll test it. But it’s a scroll right? It’s got limited duration?” Aeyrin smirked at her a bit. At least with scrolls, it was relatively certain that the effects wouldn’t be permanent.

“Yes! Of course! Thank you so much! He’ll be ecstatic!” Brelyna grinned at her and ran off to find the Khajiit.

“Seriously, ladyship?!” Bishop’s scowl probably couldn’t get any deeper at that point as he glared at her incredulously.

“Come on, it’s just a scroll. How bad could it be?” she giggled a bit with a wry smile.

“Again, sweetness, stupidest last words _ever_.”


End file.
